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so-long-soldier-writes · 4 months

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Flying Monkeys

kai parker x reader | requested by @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

summary: kai mentions in passing that he can fly a plane. you challenge him to prove it.

tags: based on s06e08: Fade Into You, small drug references, flying / aircrafts, kai being confused by someone caring about him, developing friendships, implied possible future friends to lovers

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i wrote half of this when you sent that ask and totally forgot about it until this afternoon. i have so many requests i need to finish, it's so bad 💀 but i hope this is what you were looking for!!

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!”

“There’s no freaking way; you’re totally bluffing.”

“I am not! Hey, if you need proof, ask Bonnie.”

You glance over at Bonnie, who’s sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant. She dines with one of her best friends, the both of them desperately needing a drink, they had announced. You originally went with them, but upon spotting Kai at the bar, abandoned their company to talk to the young witch. Damon begged you not to; he wanted you nowhere near him, yet you can’t help your interest in the boy.

“Why would she know?” You ask instead.

“‘Cause I flew her from Mystic Falls back to Portland.”

“Willingly?”

“No, I had drugged her.”

“Kai!”

“She didn’t give me much of a choice! I had to get out of that stupid prison world, and she wasn’t going to let me out unless I manipulated my own way out. Unfortunately, I needed to use her to escape.”

A sigh leaves your lips. As much as you want to hate him for torturing her, you can’t blame his desperate need to get out of that hell. You hadn’t been in the prison world, but by the way the pair describe it, it’s a terrible place to be. To be stuck there for eighteen years, and then denied your only chance at freedom? Not to mention, Kai’s a sociopath who struggles with the way he’s supposed to feel about other people, and he’s insanely lacking in his social skills. What he did isn’t okay - not by a long-shot - though you can understand what drove him to do it.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks, taking a sip of his drink.

You cock your head, surprised by the question. “No, I just…”

“Hurting her was never my plan, I just needed to get out.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Maybe it's the effects of the merge.

Regardless of which, you take it as a sign that Kai’s warming up to you. In that moment, you decide not to crush his tiny seed of trust.

“...can’t believe you flew a plane,” you finish, changing the topic.

Kai smiles. “But I did! It wasn’t a big one, it was a Cessna. One pilot - obviously, since I was the only one flying anything - and not meant for super long distances. Stopped for gas midway.” Then he mutters, “gave her a little more gas, too, so she’d sleep through it.” You ignore that part. “But I can promise you, I know how to fly.”

“You’ll have to prove it to me.”

“Yeah, I doubt anyone’s going to let that happen. I definitely don’t have a legal flying license.”

“We’ll convince Damon to compel someone to let you.”

“Something tells me he won’t support that.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses to keep you out of a cockpit.”

Your challenging tone has him straightening his posture. “You really don’t believe me?”

“Not one bit.”

“Fine. Then I will prove it to you.”

~~~~~

A week later, you’ve successfully convinced Damon to one, let Kai fly a plane short distance from one small airport to another; two, let you ride with him, and three; compel a pilot to let him borrow a plane, as well as compel everyone who would typically be involved to pay no attention to the unattended aircraft that will inhabit two runways and the open sky for roughly thirty minutes total.

Bonnie, to say the least, is not happy about this plan. When you and Kai first approached their table in the grill to discuss it, she was pissed. Now, as Damon drives the three of you to the airport, she’s still lecturing you on the dangers of not only flying with an unlicensed flier, but for said flier to be Kai Parker, of all people.

But to her dismay and Kai’s surprise, you shrug her off, promising you’ll be fine.

“Okay,” Damon says, parking his car. “I’ve secured thirty minutes for you two dumbasses to do this. The flight distance is twenty miles, so your actual time in the sky should only be-”

“-about ten minutes,” Kai interrupts, “I know. I know what I’m doing.”

Damon ignores him and continues, “giving you ten minutes to start up, ten to fly, ten to land. I did some research of my own when you proposed this completely diabolical plan to me.”

“It’s not-”

“Do it quickly,” he ignores again, “and keep her safe.”

“Maybe compel him for that part,” Bonnie says.

“Smart.” Damon puts a hand on Kai’s shoulder.

Kai shrugs him off. “You don’t need to compel me. I’ll keep her safe, I promise.”

Damon looks over to you.

“I trust him,” you affirm.

The man stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him, trying to ease his nerves. It doesn’t appear to work, but you don’t try again. “Kai?”

“Hm?”

“Ready?”

“Yep. See you guys in thirty.”

The plane is sitting in the middle of the runway, left alone with the keys, after Damon had compelled its owner away on a “super serious mission,” in which, if the man didn’t run inside and make Bonnie a coffee with specifically one and a half packs of sugar and a dash of peppermint mocha creamer, his new boss would fire him on the spot. Then, by the time he comes back and you and Kai are already in the sky, he’ll compel him to not freak out, but go to the neighboring airport for his plane, because it had been taken over by flying monkeys.

Damon recites the second part of his plan as the pair of you climb into the plane. Bonnie rolls her eyes at him. None of you comment.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s having fun,” Kai says once out of earshot.

“Oh, he definitely is.”

Down below, Bonnie finally mutters, “I don’t even like peppermint mocha.”

“Well then I guess he’ll get fired.”

The girl rolls her eyes again. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Y/N? With him? Hell no.” He sighs. “The minute our poor, actual, pilot comes back, we’re getting to that airport quickly.”

“Alright,” Kai sits down in the cockpit. You go to the seat beside him. “Put your seatbelt on.”

You fight the urge to giggle as he practically commands you to be safe. It’s so un-Kai-like. Then again, he is taking you five thousand feet into the air.

“Okay,” he starts pointing to all the little instruments, “this is the speed, this is the altitude, this is the height above sea level, this is the rate of turn, this is the compass, and this is the vertical speed.”

“How high above sea level are we right now?”

“Five hundred and ninety-four feet.”

“Ah.”

“These controls have a lot of explanation, and I better start so Damon doesn’t yell at me, but I can talk about them another time. Briefly, pedals down here, steering wheel - or yoke, in fancy people terms - here, throttle, and what controls the wings.” He points to the right of all that. “Communication stuff that I don’t use, to talk to other pilots, confirm take-off and landing and weather conditions and all that. Navigational systems.” He points to the left for those. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.” Just a little.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Hopefully that’s the right choice.

“Okay. Up we go.”

The boy quiets as he starts up the plane. You can’t help but admire his concentration.

Kai manages the controls carefully, and before you know it, you’re lifting off the ground. Your hand flies to the side door, gripping the handle bar subconsciously.

“You okay?” He peeks over at you. He could practically feel you tense up, although he expected you would.

“Mhm,” you nod.

He’s not entirely convinced, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He continues gaining altitude, and before you know it, you’re completely in the sky.

“You still good?”

“Yeah.”

“Need any sleeping pills?”

“Kai!”

“I’m just joking!”

You look over and playfully roll your eyes at his teasing, dimpled face. He’s glad he’s cute, otherwise there’s no way you would’ve actually gone through with this idea. Thinking about it now, it’s totally crazy - letting a boy you barely know fly you into the sky when he doesn’t even have a license. But for some reason, you trust him, and as he effortlessly controls the plane as it travels through the blue beyond, you’re confident about placing your trust in him.

Although… your friends down below are probably losing their shit…

“How high are we?” You ask, distracting yourself from that thought. No reason to worry about it now.

“You sure you want to know?” He laughs.

“Hit me.”

“Oh, alright,” he checks the meter, “about eight thousand feet up.”

When your eyes go wide, he chuckles. “Scared?”

“I trust you,” you assure both him and yourself.

That answer seems to relax him. A gentleness settles in his eyes, brightening the usual gray to a color more like that which surrounds you. Your grip on the door handle eases up, and you ride in silence for a while, appreciating the journey.

After a couple of minutes, he announces, “coming up on the airport.”

“Already?”

“It was only about a ten minute flight.”

“Damn.”

“Do you think we’ll see our unhappy co-conspirators on the ground?”

You snort, then immediately cover your mouth. Kai only smiles. “Definitely. Shaking their heads and rolling their eyes.”

“Surprised I didn’t crash the damn thing.”

“Or kidnap me.” He starts to laugh, but then pauses, unsure if you’re joking. But then you start to laugh at your own joke and he takes it as a sign that he can laugh along with you. “Guess this means I believe you… you really can fly a plane.”

“Don’t praise me yet, we haven’t landed.”

“What?!”

“Easy, I’m kidding. Landing will be just as smooth as take off was. I’ve gotcha.”

And it is. He skillfully lands the plane with minimal roughness, and maintains a good distance away from the distraught-looking pair. When he turns off the engine, he throws you the keys and a wink.

You barely catch them, then let out a laugh. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

“Why thank you, Y/N.”

“So how did you learn, really?” “Books, manuals, and lots of trial and error.”

“How bad of an error?”

“Died once or twice… or more… but I couldn’t actually die in the prison world, so I’d just crop back up and try again.”

“Ouch.”

He shrugs. “But that’s all over now.”

“You have to be more careful to avoid situations that could get you hurt now.” He narrows his eyes at you, making you confused by his reaction. “No more trial and error anything. If you’re not in the prison world, you’re susceptible to getting hurt, or worse, and I’m not letting that happen on my watch.”

“I’m on your watch now?”

“Well… yeah.” You shrug, “I mean, in terms of reckless behavior, yeah. You’re my friend, and I want you to be able to live now that you’re not stuck in that Groundhog Day world, but in order to do that, you have to be safe and avoid situations where you could get hurt.”

“You consider me a friend?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, “I’ve just… never had a friend before.”

“Well you do now. And your friend is super impressed by your flying skills, but wants you to stay safe, too, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“But you weren’t scared, right? This wasn’t brought on because you thought I was gonna crash, was it?”

“‘Course not, I had full faith in you the entire time. I only got worried when you said you died trying to learn.”

“Oh.”

“So no more of that, right? You can impress me with all the skills you already know, but no more near-death experiences. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you. I-” Your next words are cut off by your own scream as someone knocks on the plane door. Looking down, you see Damon reaching up.

“Get on out of there, you lovebirds. We have to return this plane to its actual pilot.”

“Ugh.” You both roll your eyes, but listen to the man. Kai comes around to your side as soon as he’s out. He puts a stabilizing hand on your shoulders, which comes in handy when you stumble with your first step.

“You okay?” Both men ask at once.

“Good. I always trip when I leave airplanes, too.”

A few feet away stands an annoyed looking Bonnie. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“Glad to see you, too, Bon. Alive and well.”

“You could’ve-”

Her retort is interrupted by the pilot running over for his keys. “Those flying monkeys! Have they returned my plane?!”

Damon tosses the keys to him. “Yep, good as new! Not a scratch!”

“Oh, thank god! Thank god. I was afraid I’d never see it again. If you find those monkeys, can you tell them I’m really upset, and that they need to go away?!”

“Of course I will. You have a good day.” The pilot runs away and Damon turns towards you and Kai. “You heard the man, time to go.” He shuffles you into the car, stuffing you both in the backseat again, Bonnie in the front, and starts the drive back to town.

The forty minute drive is quiet, everyone too afraid to get on Bonnie’s nerves, but you and Kai text in the back.

y/n: thank you again for the flight. i enjoyed it very much!

kai: i’m glad you let me show you my skills :)

kai: but i’ll keep your promise, no more dying

y/n: good

kai: thanks for the friendship. i’m glad to have you

y/n: me too

y/n: i knew i was gonna like you the minute damon complained about you

y/n: after he got out of the pw

kai: what did he say??

y/n: that you were talkative and annoying and seemed like just the type of person i would befriend

y/n: appears he was right

y/n: except for the annoying part

kai: huh. the talking doesn’t annoy you?

y/n: no i like hearing you talk, plus i know you were isolated for a long time, and i would like to be a person you’re comfortable talking to

kai: wait, really?

“Why are you smiling?” Damon’s voice cuts through the silence. He eyes Kai through the back mirror.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Ummm…”

“Because I told him what you said when you got out of the prison world about me befriending him. Seems you were right.”

“I said that as a joke.”

“Yet you hit it right on the nose.”

Damon huffs. “Well I also said he was annoying, and that’s true, too.”

“Maybe, but it just so happens that I like his,” you use quotation marks with your fingers, “‘annoying’ qualities, just as much as I like the rest of him, too.”

“It’s your headache, Y/N.”

You only shrug.

y/n: yes, i do like hearing you talk, and i do like even the ‘annoying’ parts about you

y/n: they’re kind of endearing, actually

Kai tries to ignore the weird fluttering-like symptom in his stomach and nervously replies,

kai: thank you

kai: i like you too

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #kai parker fluff #based on tvd 6x8

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sidebaxolotl · 4 months

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I have a question for you if you wouldn’t mind answering. I’m a lesbian and I’ve been considering turning to religion and being side b, but my main question is why would God want me to suffer this much? Why would He let me date my girlfriend for 3 years, all of which has been blissfully happy and feels totally right and good, if He really wants me to give it all up and break both of our hearts? It doesn’t feel like sin to me. We didn’t even sleep with each other until we’d been together for a year because I found it very hard to get over my shame and they waited for me the entire time. Isn’t there that verse about the fruit something brings? Being a lesbian has brought nothing but joy into my life. In fact, the only suffering it’s caused me is when I used to try to be side b. I don’t see why God would want that for me if He allowed me to be made a lesbian.

And to be honest, it seems like most of the side b people I know struggle a lot with being side b, like it doesn’t come naturally to them. I wonder how you reconcile that difficulty and pain with believing that a good God would want this for you. You could make the argument that Satan wants you to suffer and is causing your temptation, but if that’s the case why doesn’t God just fix it, if He’s all powerful? Maybe He wants me to have free will, but I’ve asked Him countless times to make me straight so it’s not like I want to be gay.

Anyway, sorry for the rant. I just find this sort of thing really hard to wrap my head around, but I want there to be a good answer that I can hold on to.

Hey friend! To be honest I do understand where you're coming from. My relationship with my ex was one of the most wonderful things ive ever felt, and it did feel right and very good, unlike a lot of the sin in my life. Even now I struggle sometimes to reconcile that and I know if things hadn't ended so badly I'd be in your situation right now. I also prayed many times that God would make me straight (and for a while I thought it worked lmao). For a long time after The Breakup I struggled really hard with what to do, i was struggling with lesbian erotica/fandom content, wondering what to do with my faith, wondering if I should force myself to marry a man, crying out to God to curse Him or blame Him for my situation, for taking her away from me, etc. I fell into a very deep depression and was very close to unaliving myself over it (and other things). I had to go on medication for an extended period of time because I did not want to live. It was a really rough time in my life and I'm glad despite all the things that I said and did out of grief that I made it out of that period of my life with my relationship to God in tact. Letting go of sin, particularly sexuality related sin can be really hard because sin doesn't always feel bad. A lot of sin does and has immediate consequences, which makes it particularly easy to avoid/stop doing but a lot of it doesn't. We live in a world where sin has permeated the deepest reaches of our universe and our own bodies. Our own judgement apart from Christ cannot always be trusted:

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?" Jeremiah 17:9

So it might not feel bad or wrong(it still doesn't feel that way to me personally), but we know God is objectively good and knows what is best, so if He says its bad, then its bad. There are reasons for this, but that's beyond the scope of this post so maybe another time. What I will also say though, is that the Christian life is hard in general and suffering is guaranteed. The apostles suffered--many of them endured gruesome deaths for the sake of the gospel, and even Jesus, the author and sustainer of our faith was abandoned by his friends and made to unjustly die on a cross with common criminals. If the son of God, the prince of peace, could not escape this fate then neither will we. This particular passage comes to mind:

"But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps" 1 Peter 2

The thing about Christian suffering is that none of it is meaningless. Because of God's grace and mercy He can use something that was never meant to exist (suffering and pain) and use it to bring us closer to Him and help build us into the people we should be, emulating God's character and love. These are some verses about suffering in regards to faith that I've found particularly helpful or enlightening:

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" 2 Cor 4:16-18 "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything" James 1:2-4

And as Christians we know for sure our suffering is not eternal. When we shed this mortal coil we will never feel the sting of sin ever again. And when the New heavens and the New earth are brought to fruition we will experience life as it always was supposed to be. And even now my life isn't just suffering. I'm doing very well now. I'm no longer depressed, I'm off medication (with doctor approval). I genuinely love my life. I'm super satisfied with being single, i freaking love it honestly lol. And my relationship with God is stronger than its ever been. Being side b isn't always easy but it really is not a death sentence devoid of happiness either!

#if u need to talk or send more asks im all ears!!#prayin for ya anon!#answers #side b ssa #side b

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romanarose · 3 months

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For the Longest Time: Chapter 9

William Miller x Fem!OC (Lorelei Giang)

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist :Playlist

Join my taglist!

Summary: A happy gathering devolves.

Warnings: Domestic violence, homophobia, transphobia, fighting, physical violence, blood, pregnancy talk, choking, PIV sex, talk of OCD, meds, orgasm struggles, fingering, JUST LOTS OF ANGST OKAY

AN/ here we gooooooo

*****************

Will had Lorelei on her hands and knees, naked on his bed as he fucked into her, his hand splayed on her butt and thumb fucking into her asshole. He was rough like she liked it, but always careful with her, knowing her limits. Will was conscious not to hurt her or the baby. At 8 months this was about the only comfortable position left. Will had assured her time and time again that they didn’t have to have sex… but he said it one too many times, making the woman who used to never cry break down in tears thinking that meant he thought she was ugly. Lorelei was very emotional these days. And incredibly horny.

It was fairly often Will woke up in the middle of the night (or day, depending if they were napping. Lorelei still worked and occasionally had to stay late still) to the buzzzzzzzz of her vibrator as she lay in bed with him.

That’s how today started. Several people had called in, and Lorelei didn’t want to leave the hospital understaffed so she stayed overnight, with the stipulation that she got to leave early on Thursday. Laci and Santi wanted to gather everyone, probably something to do with the wedding plans, and although Laci assured her it was okay she missed this, Lorelei wanted to be there. Lorelei wondered if they were going to postpone the wedding while they figure out whatever their issues are.

Lorelei and Will were taking a nap the afternoon before everyone was getting together at their bar, but Lorelei woke up from a sex dream, needy as all hell. She looked over to her loving boyfriend, sleeping so soundly and could not bare to wake him. The gentle giant, all 6’2 of him, was curled up under a fluffy white blanket looking downright angelic. Lorelei absolutely adored this, being able to watch him sleep… He worked so hard, he deserved it. He did so much for his family. It was nice to watch him rest.

But right now she needed a dick inside her, so she grabbed a dildo and vibrator from her bedside drawer, avoiding the gun she still kept inside, and tried her best not to wake Will.

That did not work, and neither did the attempt at an orgasm with her giant belly in the way.

When she groans in frustration, she hears Will chuckle next to her, and she turns to see a shirtless Will smiling at her.

Over the last 2 months, Will had become comfortable being shirtless around Lorelei, but she noticed he still avoided situations where his bare back was to her if he could help it. In respect, Lorelei turned away whenever it was unavoidable, and she never touched him there. Will had explained what happened, how his dad would whip him so badly he’d have to miss school, bedridden while his mom tended to his wounds. Talking about the beatings he endured were hard, but he spoke almost mechanically, relaying the details. What was hard for him, where he choked up, was talking about his mom. Will loved him mom, he never blamed her outwardly… but there was a layer of betrayal in his voice at the idea that she never took him and Ben away, that Will was left to be the sole protector of his brother he was only 2 years older than. His mom was a victim of his dads abuse too, and with therapy he understands why she couldn’t leave… but that doesn’t change the scared boy inside him wondering why he wasn’t enough for his mom to protect.

Lorelei sighed, dropping her arms to the bed with the vibrator rumbling against the mattress and a dildo sticking out of her cunt.

“Is this funny to you?”

He chuckles. “A little bit.”

“You're laughing.” Lore pouts dramatically. “I can’t get off with two sex toys and you’re laughing?”

“I’m laughing,” William begins caressing her brown skin, trailing fingers over her swelling breasts and over her large stomach. “Because you can’t go more than a few hours without needing to get filled.” His voice dropped low, reaching for the dildo and sliding it backside. Lorelei moaned, her head dropping back as he slowly fucked her with it.

“Fuck, William…” Lorelei sucks in a deep breath, letting Will take over for her. Before, if she wanted to cum constantly she usually had to take matters into her own hands, but with Will, Lore could just allow him to handle it. Usually, Lorelei preferred to be on top, she liked control in one way or another and Will had been happy to give it to her, still keeping his bits of control in ways like guiding her hips rocking over him. Sex with William was akin to a dance, both of them working together for mutual pleasure. However, lately Lorelei has had less and less energy to be on top or in any sort of control, and has acquiesced to letting Will take care of her.

“Why didn’t you wake me, baby?” Will coo’s in her ear.

Lorelei whines. “You work so hard…”

Will chuckles a little bit. “Princess, you work 40+ hours a week 8 months pregnant. I volunteer part time. You can wake me if you wanna feel something other than cheap plastic in you.”

Lorelei mutters something about it not being cheap, panting as she lays there getting fucked. “You volunteer, you help the farm, you’re dealing with Ben and have been driving Laci around-”

Santi was doing some consulting lately. With Laci and Frankie working and Ben and Will having their own personal lives busy, he’d confessed to being lonely, and was trying to keep busy. Not that he’d ever tell Laci that, god no. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to stay home. The 30 hour weeks were working for her. Laci can’t drive, so Will had been helping her out here and there.

As for the farm, they had some hired help but Will was out there for long hours while Lorelei worked. He had wanted to sell the damn place, it was barely functional as it was and Mrs. Miller was getting ready to move off the property, but no buyers just yet. It was looking like harvest season was going to need to be manned by them. Ben wanted nothing to do with the farm, so he was no help. He existed in a stand of a constant buzz of alcohol anyway, and refused rehab.

Will cut her off with a kiss. “None of that matters more than my princess needing me.”

She melted into him, all her barriers were coming down with every day he continued to prove himself. She couldn’t wait to see him with Chloe… the idea of Will with a tiny baby made her think about getting pregnant intentionally.

He’ll be a good dad. She just knew it.

That’s how she ended up on her hands and knees, coming on his cock 3 times and he was still going.

“Fuck!” He grumbled, pulling out of her and sighing, but no orgasm. Will was suddenly avoidant, scooching off the side of the bed to get dressed.

“Will?” Lorelei asked, initially reaching for him, but remembering not to touch his back. She excited the other side of the bed to walk around in full view of him so no moved were sudden. There was no part of Lorelei that thought Will would hurt her. He hadn’t had flashbacks for years. But, she still was conscious of things that may trigger or discomfort him.

“Okay if I wrap us up?” She asked, stark naked but holding a blanket. Will nods, and she joins him at the end of the bed where she wraps and blanket around them both. “You okay?”

Will nods, eyes closed as he’s doing his breathing. His dick was softening, and it made Lorelei sad to know he was struggling. After the ball, Lorelei went with Will to his therapy appointment. Will only went once a month now. He signed up after the fated mission that lead them to rescuing Laci. Ben had been shot, leading to some poor behavior on Will’s part in his treatment towards Laci in the beginning, residual feelings about protecting his baby brother despite Ben’s capabilities as a soldier. He didn’t like how he was acting, so he was the first to go to therapy. Frankie came later after some encouragement from Laci, who is still in weekly therapy.

Will addressed his issues quickly being the efficient and intuitive person he was. Straight to the point. He was going once a month, but had bumped it up to twice and was seeing a psych at Lorelei’s request. Part of it was because of his new diagnosis, but also because of the continued stress of Ben. Ben refused to get help for his eating, insisting there wasn’t a problem and just became more secretive. He wasn’t himself. Over the last few months, in addition to Laci’s mood swings, Ben had become far from the man who knew before Will. Gone was the ray of sunshine that beamed at her even beaten and bloodied from a bar fight. Ben wasn’t himself.

He didn’t smile much anymore, barely laughed… she missed him loud, booming laughter. He never sang. She used to always know when he was in her hospital because he would sing as nurses wheeled him down halls or while trying to hit on them, respectfully, of course. He so clearly avoided Laci and sometimes straight up ignored her when she talked to him. This was because Alice hated her and accused Ben of cheating with his former best friend. It broke Loreilei’s heart to see Ben and Laci so sad and so distant. He was still her best man, Laci refused to back down from that, even when Santi suggested he be a bride’s man and Jana take over as maid of honor. They weren’t doing bachelorettes or anything like that, but Santi thought she might want someone next to her that-

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, Laci cut him off and it ended in a fight. Laci refused to give up on him, even if he abandoned her.

So, all this was naturally putting a lot of stress on Will. Only reprieve he had was when Frankie came over to watch sports. Frankie and Jana were thriving.

Will was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive disorder, and was placed on a high dosage of prozac that was being tapered up. It wasn’t easy on him at all, but he took it with stride, know the adjustment period was the hardest, saying Laci had mentioned last year struggling to find the right medications.

Right now, however, what drove him crazy was that sometimes, the medicine prohibited orgasms.

“You feeling okay?” Lorelei asked when he calmed down and opened his eyes.

Will sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I guess.” He kisses her head. “Let’s get dressed.”

Lorelei watches as he gets up averting her eyes from his back and instead admiring his ass and the way it’s plumped just a bit.

“It’s fucking annoying.” He muttered, turned away from her. He talks better about his feelings when looking away. Even in therapy, she noticed he doesn’t look at his therapist.

She knew he was referring to being unable to orgasm. “I know, but it’s gotten better, hasn’t it? It’s only once in a while now. I don’t mean that to invalidate-”

Will turns around with a soft smile. “I know, Lore. You mean it’s better than it was when I started.”

She nods, relieved. She’s not used to comforting, but she’s doing her best for him. After he dresses, and he sees her still watching him with a hungry gaze, he throws an old shirt at her, knowing damn well she won’t be caught outside their home in that. “Get dressed, baby. We can go for round 4 after drinks.”

Laci was glowing. Her wedding only 2 weeks away, both her and Santi were laughing and smiling at the table looking ever-in love. Lorelei liked seeing them like this. Will and Lorelei walked in the same time as Jana and Frankie, and Will held the door open for all three of them (Frankie did a little curtsy and thanked Will in his ‘playing barbies with Rosie’ voice).

Jana was already begging Laci to tell her what the big meeting was, an edge of anxiety to her voice Will recognized and he locked eyes with Frankie. They were worried about the same thing he and Lorelei were, thinking the wedding was postponed.

But Laci just smiled brightly, saying it was a good surprise, but she wanted Ben there. Santi locked eyes with everyone, and everyone locked eyes with everyone except Laci, knowing Laci was setting herself up for disappointment. Whatever reaction she wanted from Ben, she wouldn’t get.

“Well, he needs to hurry up, because we have an announcement too.” Jana turned to Laci and smiled.

Ben was an hour late, walking in with Alice and already looked drunk. He had bags under his eyes, his normally golden skin was pale despite the summer sun. He had gained weight, which wasn’t a bad thing but it was an sig he wasn’t going outside or to the gym. Bulimia tends to cause weight gain. This was not the Benjamin the girls knew. This Ben had been seen by Frank and Santi a few times over the years, but this was something Will was deeply and terrifyingly familiar with. This is the Benjamin their dad beat into him, the Benjamin after Cameron left, the Benjamin that was bullied so severely by people like Alice Will constantly worried for his brother’s safety. This was bad.

Alice was with him. She was never invited, but somehow always tagged along.

Will whispered to Frankie. “I think he’s on something, keep an eye out.”

Frankie passed it to Jana, and Jana nodded at Will. Jana and Frankie weren’t experimental with drugs, mostly weed and coke, but back in their party days they knew people on everything and were equipped, along with Lorelei, to recognize it. Laci too, having been an addict of all sorts of drugs and vices, but she had enough on her plate.

“Okay!” Laci said excitedly, bouncing in her seat as she held Santi’s hand. “Jana first!”

Jana tried to hold off. “No, no Laci you gathered us, you go first.”

After some back and forth, Jana acquiesced and took her boyfriends hand, looking at him with a bright smile as Frankie looked at her adoringly.

“We’re having a baby.”

The table erupted with congratulations, Laci and Santi jumping out of their chairs to hug their friends, Will and Lorelei following suit. As a shocked Laci teared up talking to Jana, Will observed Santi holding Frankie close, his hands so wrapped up and entangled in his hair that Frankie’s cap fell down. Frankie and Santi were never afraid to show each other affection, and Santi’s eyes even teared up, whispering how proud he was of his friend.

Will joined in, hugging them both. “I’m so fucking happy for you.” Rosie’s pregnancy was an accident, a miracle that happened in a bad time and gave Will his little niece he loved so much, but this was something happening that showed how far both of them had come. Frankie and Jana were sober and the leather cusp Frankie wore on his wrist, a gift from Laci, hid the scars of how close Frankie came to not making it to this point. Look how much he had to live for.

Ben congratulated them sincerely, even Alice smiled and said congratulations, but Ben’s eyes were not bright and excited like when they announced Jana was pregnant with Rosie. The light was gone. Ben knew as well as the others how hard Frankie worked to get sober for his family, and it made Will want to cry to see him this dead inside. The Benny he knew would be whooping and cheering and announcing to the entire bar.

When everyone settled, Jana turned to Laci. “Okay sweets, what's your announcement?”

Laci and Santi immediately turned to each other, hesitating, then to the group

“Um… we can tell you guys another time, we don’t wanna hijack your announcement.

Frankie told them it was nonsense, that this was their get together and they were happy to share excitement with their friends.

After some deliberation, Laci took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.” She says softly, but the giddiness radiating off her body.

Jana whipped towards her, mouth agape. “What?!?!”

Santi pulls Laci’s whole chair closer so he can cuddle Laci up next to him. He looked as happy as someone can possibly be, like he was floating on air. He turned to Laci, placing a hand on her stomach. “Mi chica perfecta, having baby…” He kissed her forehead and held her as Will, Lorelei, Jana and Frankie got up to hug the couple. The whole time, being flooded with kind words, Laci’s eyes were locked on Ben’s who was stared at her, sad and blank faced.

Alice elbowed him. “Say something, you fucking asshole.”

Ben jumped, but mumbled a congratulations.

Jana was so excited to be pregnant at the same time as her friend. She expressed how amazing it was to have three of them pregnant at once, how the kids would all be friends.

As everyone settled again, Santi spoke again. “There’s one more thing, we um… we know what we’re having…” He said, smiling widely. Will had never seen Santi like this before Laci. Everyone likes to talk about what Santi’s done for Laci, taking a physically, sexually, and emotionally broken down woman and loving her for all her broken pieces, building her up to the person she is now, a woman who still has hardships but is joyful, strong, and empathetic. Thing is, the change in Santi is evident. He’s no longer a ball of anger and anxiety, no longer alone and depressed after his sister and mothers death. He’s content, excited for his future with his girl by his side and now a baby. Laci brought him peace he never knew he could have.

Lorelei spoke. “How… how is that possible?” She glanced at Laci’s stomach. She’d gained weight the last few months, but everyone just assumed it was the weight she was supposed to be putting on to be healthy anyway. They planned to try for a baby as soon as they were married, so Laci wanted to be at a healthy weight… it seemed her heavier eating had a different cause.

Laci explained. “We just had the appointment two days ago, we’re” She looked up to Santiago, eyes sparkling. “We’re having a boy.”

“Holy shit, Lace…” Frankie mutters, smiling. “That’s amazing guys. You got a name picked out yet?”

“Not totally.” Laci sighs. “We had one for a girl. We liked Juliette Josephina”

"Juliette is French, Josephina is Spanish.” Santi adds.

“But we can’t figure out a boy's name.”

Santiago explains that the middle name is going to Antonio, after Laci’s late brother, Antoni. “So we just need a first name. Something, Antonio, Garcia.”

The shift in Laci’s body language and facial expression was clear. She looked confused, and Will heard Lore whisper, “Oh no.”

Santi was obvious to the shift until Laci turned to look up at him. “Garcia?”

He paused at that, looking at his fiance. “Yeah… Garcia. That’s my last name, munequita.” He jokes and gently nudges her, but Laci looks irritated, scooting away. Will caught Frankie’s eyes.

“I’m the last of my family’s name, baby. I don’t want it to die with me.”

Santi looked more confused, but also there was a slight edge to his voice. “Well, if you remember, I’m the last of my family too.” That was a mistake. Laci always remembered Santi’s dead family the same she did hers. The glare on Laci’s face showed she took that personal, but Santi didn’t stop. “They won’t even let us put a different last name than ours on his birth certificate, so I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

Laci looked confused again, but when Lorelei sucked in a breath, Will turned to her for clarification while the couple had a stare-down.

Lorelei whispered. “I think Santi thought she was taking his last name…”

Oh fucking hell.

When the realization hit Laci, it showed on her face like all her emotions did. “I’m not taking your last name, Santiago...”

Everyone heard Jana groan and flop her head on the table. “Man, I wish I could drink.”

This time, Lorelei turned to Will, confused. Will clarifies. “She only calls him by his full name if she’s mad, or really um… frisky. So unless they are about to go to the unisex bathroom, it’s gonna be a long night.”

Ben stood up. “I’m getting drinks. Anyone else here suddenly pregnant or do you guys want a round?”

“The last thing you need is another drink” Alice chastizes, making Laci turn away from her brewing fight.

Laci. “Another? Ben, are you already drunk?”

Alice. “Mind your business.”

Santi. “Hey! Don’t talk to her like that!”

Ben. “Oh my god, shut the hell up, Garcia. Go figure why your fiance doesn’t want to marry you so badly she doesn’t want you last name.”

Frankie. “Ben!” But Ben was already walking to flag down a bartender, stumbling. Will began to stand, but Lorelei pulled him back.

Santi turned to Laci, a sad, dejected look on his face. “You don’t want to marry me?”

Jana. “Don’t listen to Ben, Santito, he doesn’t know shit.”

Alice huffs.

Laci. “Of course I want to marry you! You’re the love of my life and the father of my son, I adore you, but Santiago, how could you just assume I’d take your name?”

Santi. “Because! Well… uh- well because-”

Laci. “Because I’m a woman and you’re a man? Santiago, you’ve never forced me into gender rolls-”

Santi. “Please stop calling me that.”

Laci. “You don’t listen to me!”

Santi took her hands, pulling her close with a desperate look in his eyes. He speaks quietly. “Lace, baby, I know you’re going through something right now, and the pregnancy has a lot of hormones-”

For the third time, Will and Frankie looked at each other. Rookie mistake.

Laci was not thrilled, called out Santi’s invalidating words and the couple continued going back and forth. Alice got up and joined Ben at the bar doing shots while the two couples left sat and relative quiet and drank their water and ate their food.

When Ben came back, him and Alice were drunk, handing out shots to Will, Frankie and Santi.

Frankie frowned. “Ben, you know I don’t drink.”

“Oh, right.” The blonde boy laughed, as if alcoholism didn’t nearly kill both of them. Ben grabbed the shot and took it before Frankie could stop him. Santi took his shot, and Will slid his to Santi.

Ben turned to Will, defensive. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m just not drinking is all.”

“Got something to do with the fact you have the same pills as Laci in your bathroom?”

A hush fell over the room, everyone turning to Will. They weren’t supposed to find out about that.

“Will?” Laci’s small voice spoke through the surrounding voices of the bar. “Are you on prozac?”

Will sighs, but he feels Lorelei’s hand on his, and she whispers that he doesn’t have to talk about it. He knows if he doesn’t want to, she’d help change the subject or make an exit. But he decides he wants to. Laci, Jana and Frankie are so open about their struggles, he could open up just a little.

“I was diagnosed with Obsssive Compulsive Disorder recently and I started medication for it, and I’m back in therapy more regularly.” He spoke calmly, smooth. “It’s really not a big deal, I’m managing it, and Lore.” Will smiles at her fondly. “Is helping me.”

Ben watched him as he talked, still very drunk. “Well I guess this explains a lot.”

“Yeah, it really does. And it’s been nice getting help.”

“Why are you on prozac though? Isn’t it an anti-depressant” He asks.

“Prozac helps with OCD too”

“Doesn’t it, like... Kill your sex drive.”

Frankie smacks his palm to his face and Will sighs again.

“I’m not talking about this with you, especially not here.”

“Hey!” Ben raised his hands defensively. “Don’t get mad at me because you need pills”

Will rolls his eyes. “You literally are supposed to be on adderall”

Lorelei claps her hands together, attempting to change the subject. “Jana, Laci, how many weeks are you two then?”

Jana took the opportunity to distract the brothers. “I’m 10 weeks.” She turned to Laci. “Did you guys did the blood test to find out the sex earlier?”

Laci shook her head, smiling a bit again although avoidant of Santi’s touch. “Um… no, I’m actually 20 weeks.”

Everyone turned to gape at her. “Lace! Shit, how the hell did you hide it?” Jana looked at her stomach. She had a little bit of a stomach, but nothing that screamed pregnant.

Laci’s face fell. “Um… Well he’s um… we think he’s kinda small…” The pink in her cheeks deepens.

Alice speaks. “Are you not eating?”

“No! Of course I am! It’s just hard-”

“How is it hard, just eat-”

Santi sits up at that, defending his fiance. “Laci is doing everything possible to take care of our son. We got plenty of medical professionals, so we don’t need your input.”

Laci smiles at him again, then she gets more serious as she speaks quietly. “We wanted to keep it a secret as long as we could. I was cleared to try for a baby medically, but um… well…” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Santi whispers that she doesn’t have to explain anything, but Laci wants to. “I miscarried… before.” She emphasized the before, and Will understood it was in captivity. Santi extended a hand, and Laci took it this time. “So we wanted to wait. But everything looked good at the last ultrasound, just small. But the doctor said there was no need to worry.”

Will saw Santi squeeze Laci’s hand, and smiled. No matter the what, Santi had her back. “How long have you known?”

She looked fondly at the man who’d become like an older brother to her, someone who reminded her so much of Antoni. Antoni was tall, blond and broad too. They looked nothing alike, save for the blonde hair, but Laci liked how safe she felt with her brother. She was always shy and sensitive, even as a child. Making friends was hard for her, and she was always a little strange. Antoni was her defense. No one wanted to mess with his little sister, no matter her awkwardness and occasional meltdowns.

“A few days after the beach trip, but before the funeral. That’s why I wasn’t feeling good and left early. I was a little worried I’d played too hard at the beach.” Laci laughed a little. “Like when I fell off your shoulders.”

“I’ll be honest.” Ben said, still avoiding looking at Laci. “Until I saw Lore swimming that day, I thought pregnant women couldn’t swim.”

Will laughed as she saw Jana close her eyes, take a deep breath, and turn to him with a smile. “Pardon me, Benny boy?” She giggled.

Benny raised his hands in defense, laughing. “Hey don’t blame me! I got 2000’s bible belt sex ed!”

Lorelei poked her boyfriend. “So did Will, but he certainly knows his way around a vagina.” Oh boy, did he.

“Oh trust me.” Ben chuckles. “So do I.”

Jana looks at Ben. “Benjamin, baby, are you registered to vote?”

“Sure am!”

She turned to the girls, laughing. “This is why we gotta vote, ladies! Men will know absolutely nothing about women’s bodies and then make choices on our reproductive rights!”

“Don’t look at me! I voted blue!”

But Will saw right away this was not something Alice knew. She turned to him. “You vote democrat?”

Ben’s face fell. Instantly he looked panicked. “Well… I mean the last election… 2020 was a weird time…” He seemed to try to backtrack. Will watched carefully, trying to focus on Lorelei’s hand squeezing him in time. He counted the squeezes of her hand to calm himself, trying to not butt in right away. Part of Will’s therapy was learning he didn’t have to carry everything on his shoulders, and he didn’t have to step in for every little squabble within his family.

However, if Jana had one flaw, and she had very few, it would be an inability to backdown. She spoke to Alice, serious now. “Are you telling me you vote republican?”

Alice scoffed. “Yeah, me and most of the state of Florida. What, you thought I was some blue haired liberal? Unlike you, I got a real degree and didn’t walk out of college brainwashed.” She glared at Jana, and Frankie sat up. He wouldn’t insert himself where Jana didn’t want him, but if Alice disrespected her, he’d stand by his woman.

Jana laughed out loud, a short, clipped laugh that made Santi cringe. He’d been on the other end of that laugh before, and it was never good. “A real degree?”

“Yeah.” Jana challenged. “A real degree. Not some gender studies bullshit.”

“OOOHH! That’s what it is! You’re mad I have a bachelors in Women and Gender studies. Well, even if it wasn’t a real degree, which it is, I have a masters and am working on a doctorate.”

“Yeah, a doctorate program you flunked out of because you’re a crackhead!”

“HEY!” Frankie barked. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that!”

But Alice ignored him. “Where’s your daughter, Jana? How often do you see her?” She continued to talk despite Frankie and Santi telling her to shut the fuck up. Santi wouldn’t stand by anyone talking shit about Jana, especially her mothering of his goddaughter. “You’re perfectly happy to leave your child all day to work and leave her at a fucking day or have her father babysit him while you try to girlboss your way through the corporate ladder.”

“Corporate ladder?” Jana gawks. “I work at a non-profit! Don’t fucking dare act like I’m some cold hearted corporate woman in a hallmark movie spending hours in an office over time with my family when I am trying to help homeless youth-”

“You're spreading an agenda!”

There was silence, a deadly calm as Jana processed what she said, eyebrows raised. “An… agenda… are you saying what I think you’re saying…”

Will took more breaths. Lorelei asked him if he needed to step out but he said no. He was being quiet for now, but he loved Jana with his whole heart and would stand by her too. He looked to Ben, hoping he’d fucking say something, hoping he’d choose Jana who he’s know for years, whose daughter he’s helped raise, who’d do fucking anything for him above Alice, but he knew it was futile. If he let Alice pull him away from Laci, from him, she had him completely.

Alice didn’t look at anyone other than Jana. “Yeah, the gay agenda. Homeless gay teens don’t need a shelter and hormones, they need to be sent home!”

“TO PARENTS THAT KICKED THEM OUT!”

“Parents have rights! I know the left likes to force being gay and trans on kids-”

“HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WHEN YOU’RE DATING BEN!”

Everything was quiet, and Will felt like the life had been sucked out of the room. His chest tightened when the look on Alice’s face revealed what Will had wondered.

Alice doesn’t know.

She looked confused. “Ben… isn’t gay…”

Jana, caught up in her anger didn’t catch up, even as Frankie whispered her name. “Yeah, okay, he’s bi, same difference but-”

Jana was irrelevant now, turning to face a wide-eyed Ben. “Benny, what the fuck is she talking about.”

Will didn’t know what was going on, what was happening, but he recognized something in Ben. Fear. “Ben, hey, let’s step out-” He stood, wanting to separate Ben from what was happening, but Ben shrugged him off.

“Fuck off! I’m not gay! Or bi, or- or any of that!”

A tiny voice whispered sadly. “Benny…” Laci’s eyes filled with sadness, a sadness Will felt in his own chest as he watched his brother crawl back into the closet after only just being out.

Then, Jana realized what she did, gasping and covering her mouth. Frankie put a reassuring hand on her thigh, but watched the scene unfold in front of him. Jana didn’t mean to out Ben, she had assumed Alice knew.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Ben?” Alice spat, disgust in her voice as she looked him over.

“Baby, no, it’s not like that! It was, I went through a phase...”

Laci looked desperately at the man who used to be her best friend, not understand how he could want to be with someone who didn’t love him as he was… but somehow, she also got it. Before Santi, Lacina was so desperate for love, for affection, she took it wherever she could find it, even if that came with drugs and abuse and living on streets sometimes. It didn’t matter to her. She took the love she thought she deserved. Now, now she knows she deserves nothing less than Santi, in all his adoration. How could Ben not understand he deserved so much more than Alice? He deserved to be loved wholly and completely

“Benny, stop” She said, tearing up.

But Ben snapped at her. “Stay the fuck out of this!” He yelled with a glare, and winced as Santiago stood up quickly out of his chair.

“Apoligize to her, you fucking dickhe-”

“Santi STOP!” Laci yelled, crying, then turning back to Benny even as her body was shaking with anxiety. She was going to get her words out, even if she had to sign them. Benny was the one who taught her and Santi, after all. “Benny, don’t do this-”

“Laci, just stop talking-”

“I don’t understand! I don’t understand why you let her talk to you like this, why you let her do this to you! You used to be my best friend and now you don’t even talk you me! How are you supposed to be my best man when we havn’t spoken in months!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be in your fucking wedding!”

Around them every person in her group had something to say to Ben: Will, Lorelei, Santi, Jana, Frankie, but Laci only saw Ben, the anger in him as her broke her heart.

“I WANTED YOU TO BE MY SON’S GODFATHER, BEN! I WANTED YOU TO BE THERE AS HE GOT BAPTIZED!”

Santi was momentarily distracted, looking at her confused. “Baptized?”

But Laci and Ben ignored him. “Well I don’t! And I don’t want to fucking talk to you!” Ben got up, nearly falling over as he stormed away. Will tried to follow after him, but Ben shouted at him to go away. Alice followed after.

Laci was shaking. Jana looked guilt stricken as she covered her face with her hands, taking deep breaths as Frankie soothed her, telling her she’s an amazing mom and doing amazing work. Lorelei stood by Will, holding his hands and guiding him through breathing exercises. Santi was knelt at Laci’s side, holding her as she cried.

“You did amazing, munequita, I’m so proud of you.”

After a few moments, her body tensed, moving away from him. When Santi sensed she didn’t want her touch, he let go.

“I want our baby baptized, Santi. We’re baptizing him.” She mutters, sounding angry.

Santi blinked at her. “I- baby, can we talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about? We were both raised catholic.” She was avoidant, not looking at him or anyone, just staring at the floor, frowning. It was so strange for Will to see her like this, for her to be so closed off and angry as Santi attempted to communicate calmly. Santi is not known to be level headed in these situations.

Santi took a breath, considering his words carefully as he tried to open up dialoge. “Lacina, you know, you know I would do anything for you-”

“So let me have this!”

He blinked at her yelling, clearly hurt, but he and Laci had always communicated before and he didn’t want to stop now. “But you can’t just make these choices for our son without asking me. We don’t go to church, Lace. I’m not saying we can’t baptize him, if it’s important to you of course we can but… But Lace, that’s something we need to decide together.”

Suddenly, she turned to her fiance, glaring at him. “I don’t need to ask your permission about my baby, Santiago!” She spat as she stood up, and Santiago stood with her.

Despite his hurt, he spoke calmly towards her. Santi never raised his voice to her. “Our baby, Laci. Our baby.”

“Whatever.” Laci shook her head, walking away. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Santi began to walk after her, knowing she can’t be alone in public, but to his surprise she shouted at him to leave her alone.

Laci’s face burned with embarrassment and tears as she tried to avoid eye contact with people in the bar. She was radiating anger, and right now it was directed at Santi but she knew that’s just because he was the easier target. It’s easier than admitting how badly Benny hurt her. He was her best friend, he was the first person she spoke to when the others rescued her and the first person to treat her normal. While the others talked to her like a scared wet cat, he would come over and put on Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Santi tried to put on the show recently, knowing how much she missed watching it with him, but it just made Laci cry.

She missed him, and she hated the person she’d become recently. She was angry, all the time and she took it out on Santi… her loving, wonderful fiance. Maybe she was wrong, maybe she didn’t deserve him. Maybe she deserved what she had gotten before, the love that hit her, got her addicted, sold her. Santi deserved better.

As she passed a hallway, she heard Ben’s voice and couldn’t help but look up. What she saw… it made a lot of things clear.

Alice and Ben were arguing, but that wasn’t unusual. What struck her, what compelled her to keep watching was how scared he looked. And then it happened.

Alice threw a punch, and right away Laci knew it wasn’t the first time. He barely reacted. Instead, Ben just stood there, letting him hit her. Despite everything she endured, despite her PTSD, her fear, despite the height Alice had on her and the violence she wasn’t afraid to enact on someone over a foot taller than Laci was, Laci did not hesitate. She ran up to them, placing herself in front of Ben to block him from Alice’s blows.

Alice looked enraged, and Laci felt Ben’s arm on her trying to move her away. “Lace, please, go.”

“No!” She turned slightly to bed to see his saddened and worried face, desperate to get her away from Alice, but she didn’t budge.

Alice glared at the small woman. “Mind your business!”

“He is my business! I don’t care how much he hates me, he’s still my friend and you don’t get to hurt him!”

“Oh yeah, your friend.” Alice said, disbelievingly.

“Yes, Alice, my friend! I don’t want him! He and I had a whole year before you showed up, months before I was dating Santi for us to date if we wanted to but we don’t! I don’t want him like that! I’m engaged to a wonderful man and I had hoped that Ben would find someone to be happy with but instead it’s YOU.”

Alice crossed her arms. “Maybe it’s not you I need to be worried about, maybe it’s Santi.”

Laci felt more confused than ever. “You are so insecure! Santi is his friend!”

Ben saw it coming before Laci did and tried to move her out of the way. It wasn’t fast enough, and between Ben moving her and Alice’s swing, Laci was knocked to the ground.

Santi went to follow her after a few minutes, just in case she ran into trouble again in the halls. She was angry, and she hurt his feelings, but he worried she’d calm down and become afraid. He never wanted her to feel afraid, never again. He just wanted to talk to her, he wanted to sit down and talk without it becoming a fight. The baptism wasn’t the issue. Of course he’d agree to that. Hell, they could go to mass every week and begin practicing if that’s what she wanted. He knew she still prayed sometimes. Whatever she wanted was hers, he always said that… and maybe that’s where he should have communicated.

It wasn’t that his priorities changed when she told him she was pregnant, it was that they grew. Laci had been his number one for a year and half, everything was for her. Next came Frankie, then the rest of his family: Jana, Ben, Will, Rosie, in no order. Now, however, he had his son to think of, and Laci and him couldn’t make choices on their own, not regarding him. It had to be a family choice.

Santi didn’t see it happen very clearly. He barely saw it at all. All he knew was Ben moved, and now Laci was on the floor with a bloody lip. Santi was triggered back to that day so long ago the day he found her tied up in a basement with that cut on her forehead, bleeding. Now she was bleeding again, because he didn’t protect her. He saw red.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING DEADMAN, MILLER!”

Lorelei was just behind him. She told Will to sit there with Frankie and Jana and she’d check in on everyone else, knowing Will needed to calm down. When she heard Santi’s threat, it didn’t matter what had happened, she knew she had to get between Santi and the man who she knew was her future brother-in-law.

Before Santiago could swing, all 5’3 of Lorelei stood between the two men, Santi’s fist pulled back.

“Lorelei, move, now.” He said, fury in his voice indicating he was just barely holding on to his restraint.

“No! You need to cool down, Garcia!” She’d faced down Santi once before, stared at the barrel of his gun. She wasn’t afraid of his fist. She didn’t think Santi would hurt her, but she’d heard and seen what he had done to people who’ve harmed Laci before. She wasn’t sure if she was enough to stop that explosion.

“MOVE!”

“Or what!? You’ll hit a pregnant woman?” Lorelei challenged.

Santi scoffed at that in disgust. “No! I’m not Ben”

That took Lorelei by surprise and she looked to Laci. The girl was frozen, clearly compartmentalizing as she sat on the floor, her pink dress staining with blood dripping from her mouth. If Ben did that to the poor girl half his size, Lorelei was going to beat his ass herself. But she’d broken up enough ER fights to know that one cannot simply go off the word of one person. Ben, however, was not denying anything as Alice stood behind him.

“I’m not moving until you calm the fuck-”

Before she had a chance to stop it, she heard Jana yell a warning to Santi but it was too late. Will yanked Santi back and threw him against the wall, wrapping his hands around his neck. He wasn’t choking him, but he easily could.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM!” He bellowed, loud and angry.

Santi didn’t back down, even knowing what Will was capable of and that he used to have blackouts.

“Ben hit Laci!”

Will turned to see Laci, Jana knelt beside her, holding her comfortably while Frankie stayed close to them both in the chaos, and anger at his brother surged, but that wasn’t the point. Santi was not the arbitrator of justice, not to Ben and certainly not to Lorelei.

“How FUCKING DARE YOU raise your hand to her!” His fist tightened, just a bit.

“I WASN’T GOING TO HIT LORELEI! Jesus! I’m gonna beat Ben’s ass, and yours if you don’t move!”

Frankie walked to them, trying to pull Will away. He recognized that white-hot anger, and he sympathized with both of them. If someone put their hands on or raised a fist to Jana, he’d feel the same. But someone needed to be the voice of reason before they killed each other.

“You’re not beating anyone’s ass, Pope, and you fucking know it.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Will could fucking fold you.”

“HE HIT HER!”

“William.” Lorelei spoke softly, her hands sliding over Will’s. The backs of her fingers were on Santi’s neck and she could feel his rapid pulse. “William, baby, you need to let him go.”

Will took a breath. “But he-”

“I know, baby. I know. But he didn’t touch me, and you know damn well he wasn’t going too.”

Loosening his gasp, Santi started to say something but Lorelei shushed him. “You understand where he’s coming from, right? His pregnant fiance is bleeding, you understand why he’s so angry.”

He did. He got it. It’s the ame anger he felt when he saw Santi’s fist raised to Lore, but she was right. He was never going to hit her, and certainly not 8 months pregnant. Santi wasn’t like that. He let go, still fuming, but also confused. Benny had been a prick lately, a fucking dumbass, but he’d never been the type to hit a woman. Every bar fight he was in was with men.

Ben protected women. Benny loved Laci, he knew he did. Why would he hurt her? Laci was scared silent, going nonverbal from the shock and barely looked like she was mentally here. She looked at the floor, eyes glassy as she sat on Jana’s lap. Jana held her tightly, giving her the pressure she needed to hopefully prevent a panic attack. Hell, Will might kill Ben himself.

When he let go and stepped back, he saw Santi make a move to go at Ben again who ws stand silently to the side, but Frankie’s hand on his chest held him in place.

“You got nothing to say, Ben?!” He shouted, the words echoing off the walls of the short hall. “You fucking coward! So miserable in your own life you take it out on someone whose loved you un-fucking-conditionally despite everything! FUCK YOU!”

Jana spoke from where she held Laci tightly. The blonde girl was in shock, no even crying like she normally does. “Santi!” She called him to look down. “Your girl needs you.”

When Santi turned and saw his precious fiance on the floor, bleeding, his heart broke. He needed to take her to the hospital, he needed to take care of her. Laci didn’t want Benny hurt. Laci’s defended Ben to him before, she loves him. That’s not what she wants. Right now, he recognized the look in her eyes… She needed him to be present.

Santi pushed past Frankie’s hold and knelt down beside her, his touch careful on her hands and his soft. “Hey, Miss Lacina.” He said with a gentle smile. “It’s just me, Santi. I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?”

She gave the tiniest nod, so he continued. “I’m gonna pick you up, and I’m gonna be very, very careful. Does anything hurt?”

She signed ‘my face’

He nodded. “Yeah, I Bet it does, princess.”

Santi scoops her up in his strong arms, Jana rescinding her responsibly into capable hands. Laci wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his middle, dissociating but knowing him. She trusted in his voice, his smell, his touch even when she knew nothing else. Next, Frankie bent down and slung an arm around Jana’s middle to help her up.

Santi turned to give one final word to Ben, holding Laci up under her bottom and pointing his non dominant hand at Ben. “Don’t come to the wedding, and don’t you ever come near my wife and child again.”

“Santi.” Frankie nudged Santi along, arm still around Jana. Frankie shot one last look back to Ben, worried, and left with the others. Now, Lorelei couldn’t understand sign language outside of some basics she’d learned, but she could recognize it. It was subtle, like she was whispering to Ben. Lorelei saw Ben nod, and then she was gone.

The two couples were left, Lorelei kept holding Will’s hand, knowing he needed it as he turned around to face Ben, angry. He’d protect Ben from Santiago, but she knew he was damn pissed about him hurting Laci.

“What. The fuck. Was that.” Will seethed at his younger brother.

Alice looked up at Ben and mouthed something to him that Will and Lorelei couldn’t read.

Ben hesitated, but looked rapidly between Lorelei and Will before becoming avoidant. “Nothing.” He muttered and tried to walk away.

“No!” Will held out a hand, stopping him. “Did you hit her?! Did you actually knock a pregrant women, Laci of all fucking people, to the fucking floor? Jesus Ben! We thought you were better than that!”

Grabbing Alice’s hand, he shoved past Will. “Fuck off.”

“THIS WHAT YOU WANT, BEN? TO HURT WOMEN?” Will shouted, starting after him, but Lorelei held him back. “YOU WANNA BE DAD, NOW?”

Lorelei watched Ben and Alice leave, but somehow, she couldn’t believe this was the full story. Ben was not like that. Her intuition said something was wrong.

It was a few hours later. Lorelei and Will were up watching I love Lucy, Lore between Will’s legs on the couch. Despite being horny as hell, Lorelei could read a room and did not initiate. So, she simply laid with him and tried not to squirm. It was, frankly, hot seeing Will defend her like that, knowing that he’d do anything for her and Chloe. Seeing his throw Santi up against the wall for even looking like he might hurt her… goddamn…

“You're horny, aren’t you?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Goddamn it. Am I that predictable?”

He chuckles. It was nice to hear him laugh after tonight. “A little. But mostly, it was kinda hot watching you stand up to Santi like that. Remember the day you first met him?”

“How could I forget.” She can feel him laugh, then he sighs.

“I’m supposed to be in his wedding in two weeks. I don’t know how we get past that.”

“He told Ben to stay away, not you.”

“But I almost choked him out Lore…” Will groaned, feeling ashamed of his actions.

“You did it to protect me and Ben, Santi will understand. And he was doing what he did to defend Laci. I think you both can understand each other.”

A brief pause. “I just can’t believe he did that… To Laci of all people, christ, that girls been through enough.”

“Yeah… and god damn, that whole part before?” She shook her head. “Shit show. Bet Jana feels awful.”

“She didn’t mean to. Ben’s been out for a while, a last to everyone except our family. She just assumed his long term girlfriend would know.”

Lorelei flopped her head back on Will’s chest. “Watching him walk himself back into the closet… that was hard to watch.”

“Don’t I know it…”

She turned to look up at him. “You doing okay, baby? As good as you can?”

He sighed “Yeah… looks like the meds are working, at least a little.” Will kissed her temple, his hands slowly started to caress her sensitive breasts.

“Mmmmmmm” She moaned, but made her best attempt at making him not feel like has too. “We don’t gotta do nothing just because I’m horny, babe. You had a bad night.”

Will kissed her neck. “Just wanna give you one on my fingers. Get my mind off things.”

Lorelei smiled. She wasn’t going to protest if he really wanted too. “Okay.” She relaxed into him as he slid his hands into her pj pants.

It was just started to get good when his phone rang, and she groaned.

“I’m gonna ignore it.” He promised, but the strain in his voice told her he wanted to answer.

“Go ahead, answer it. We can pick up later.” She pulled his hands out of his pants. It could be a number of people, including but not limited to the girl who took a fall in her second trimester and had to go to the ER. Lorelei remembered how scary that was for her when she fell.

Will pulled his hand out of her pants, still wet with her slick and grabbed his phone.

It was Santi. He sighed. He wanted to start with ‘what the fuck do you want’ but there was a more important issue. “How’s Laci and the baby?”

‘Their fine. Laci’s um… startled. Isn’t talking yet. But they are fine. She’s sleeping right now. She was… she was able to sign, though and… well she explained what happened. Ben tell you anything?’

Will looked to Lorelei who was listening in. “No, he just um… walked away.”

They could both hear him sigh loudly over the phone. ‘Listen man, we gotta talk.’

****************

:((((((((((((((((( BENNNYYYYYYYYYY

Tell me all your thoughts! Santi and laci fighting, jana and alice, etc etc etc

Laci is largely meant to be in the wrong here, but she’s spent a lot of chapters of several series being “perfect” and now she’s going through this plus pregnancy, Alice’s bullying and losing Ben, she’s not acting like herself.

And Ben…. Oh Ben.

I started cry writing Ben and laci fighting, Ben putting himself back in the closet broke my queer heart

@pimosworld @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @milkymoon2483 @poeedameronn @itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @babymills16 @rayslittlekitten @kirsteng42

#William miller #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #William miller x oc #William miller smut #william miller angst #William miller comfort #fem oc #triple frontier fanfiction #william miller fanfiction #william ironhead miller #will miller fanfiction #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam smut

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graphicabyss · 5 months

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War and Alienation

There are many terrible things war brings into your life. There's death and destruction. There's the uncertainty and constant anxiety. There's the worry for your loved ones fighting. There's deteriorating physical and mental health. There's also the deep down guilt that many out there are suffering way more than you are. But one thing you don't see coming is the alienation from the outside world.

I like being in international public spaces like streams but it also often produces mixed feelings. On the one hand, it gives me the sorely lacking sense of normalcy. But on the other, it often makes me feel even lonelier than I am.

I am not that different from the First World people there. I speak the same language, I like the same games, I repost the same memes. And yet, I feel there's a deep abyss separating me from them.

And it's not just being unable to participate in the money-giving rituals when you have none to spare. In fact, even if I had more money right now, I would not direct it to foreign artists, no matter how much I appreciate them. I would direct it towards buying more drones or to some of the countless local charities.

It's sometimes hard listening to people complain about random shit like food or having too many games to play. And of course I know everyone's struggles are valid. But it's just hard to keep myself from commenting "You haven't had a good sleep because of your cat, ay? Well, I had a 6-hour drone attack on my city so that makes two of us lol." I know it wouldn't be good for anyone so I usually just hold back. And I, like other Ukrainians, often try to frame it in a comical or sarcastic way but it doesn't seem to help.

I am constantly torn between just chilling with the guys and screaming about the terrible shit that is happening. And it's hard enough on a quiet day, much harder when you have to step away from the stream because there are missiles flying your way. When you try to mention shit like that, it makes people uncomfortable. They usually just freeze and say nothing. It's too awkward, too unpleasant and they probably are afraid to say the wrong thing. So you only end up feeling bad for achieving nothing but dampening someone's mood. But it adds to the feeling of alienation. Ben told me I shouldn't worry about ruining the mood, which I am very grateful for. But I will definitely always worry about it. I don't want to be that person who comes and ruins the atmosphere. I don't want to be the 'war girl'.

And yet, I want people to care about us, just a little bit. To remember us and the shit we go through every day. To realize how lucky they are that they don't have to deal with war on top of money, job and family problems.

Nobody wants to hear about the war. People in the West are tired of it. And I get that. I can't really blame them. I'd love to just turn off the news and not know any of this. But I can't. And if it's tiring to just hear about it, I'd love them to try to imaging how tiring it is living through it. After nearly 2 years, it's taken a heavy toll on us all. And this war fatigue ultimately translates to less support for Ukraine, to less military help and less hope for us to survive it and that is scary.

#personal #War #had to get it off my chest #even if noone's gonna read it

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streettealee · 10 months

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Personally, I don't really like the idea of James having to forgive Grace or anyone thinking that he does and needs to/will at some point.

Characters can be redeemed by the narrative, but that doesn't mean all characters need to forgive them. I do think some of the attitude toward Grace turned quite assholey during ChoT, but James was impacted in a huge way by her. There's a difference between accepting what has happened to him, thereby making peace with himself (who else is guilty of beating themselves up by remembering negative experiences in an endless replay cycle and wondering why it happened or how else it could have gone so you could have avoided it or certain aspects of it?), and forgiveness. You can accept an event happened, or in some cases, a person happened, but that doesn't mean you forgive them or condone or excuse their actions. You simply acknowledge within yourself that you don't need to keep beating yourself up over it and even if things could have gone a hundred different ways, it happened the way it did and there's no changing the past.

Sometimes, we think we've made peace and then an experience comes back to haunt us weeks, months, years later, maybe even decades, and often without much warning. And you're left reeling, lost, wondering what's wrong with you "because I thought I was over this?" You could have undergone incredible healing, but suddenly you're trembling like a leaf in the wind again, short of breath, unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to feel, reduced to a robotic sort of state that a lot of people might not notice you're in. You keep thinking of a situation. It comes over and over, no matter how much you try to block it out, tell yourself you're okay with it now, there's no other way it could have been and you're done.

James Herondale has gone through trauma. I recognise that even canon didn't address it very well. Hell, I don't think even I can do it, but I'm trying where fanfic allows. I've seen others attempt it too, which is something, and more than CC did on the whole. I think some of us need to step back and realise that just because we like characters, it doesn't mean characters need to like or forgive each other. A redeemed antagonist's past does not disappear. Things aren't neatly tied up with a bow. I've done things I'm not proud of to people who didn't deserve an ounce of it, and I have to live with that guilt, and remember that they don't need to forgive me. They definitely don't. Just as I wouldn't forgive some of the people who did wrong by me in life, who leave me for periods of time a shell of a human being.

James doesn't need to forgive Grace. It wouldn't surprise me if, years down the track of his fictional life, he began suffering nightmares of a demon on his back, claws in, again, struggling to pry it off. If he saw silver bracelets and skipped hastily over them immediately because he doesn't want to think too deeply about the doors it might open. If he avoids the area around the ruined Blackthorn Manor or compulsively visits there, trying to unite his past self with who he is now. If he felt mostly indifferent just days ago but suddenly can't think about Grace without imagining methods of revenge, memories of time spent together tinted by bitterness, can't look her in the eye for weeks at gatherings.

James could say he does not blame Grace to ease her mind on one of his better days, but it is unrealistic, in my view, to believe he truly forgives her even if he's accepted what happened. A part of him might always blame her, be despairing at her, because of the years he lost because of her. He can know it was Tatiana's commands, her influence, but it doesn't remove the fact that Grace carried these things out and was the face James attributed to his pain. James can be okay, and still suddenly experience it all again years down the track, and Grace being redeemed does not mean he has to forgive her or never blame her. So long as he doesn't act out of malice or cause some intentional harm to her, James is justified. He does not need to forgive.

I hope all of that made sense. Most of this was just rambling thought.

#james herondale #grace blackthorn #tlh #the last hours #chain of thorns #trauma #forgiveness #or lack thereof

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

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Hey, Absolutely love your work, your the reason for my insomnia. (im blaming you yes)

Can you make a baek seongjun scenario where jinho lee is introducing us to him as his new 'assistant' (like the first meeting)? Maybe over dinner lol idek.

Ty for your time tho :)

Hi Anon! Please get some sleep if you can! Although my sleep pattern has been shot to shit since I've started all this wordvom a couple months ago. Interesting what sleep deprivation does to a person, look at all this shit streaming out of me.

Thank you so much for reading and for requesting! I've gone for a little bit more... bittersweet.

Baek Seongjun x Reader: Cooking on the boat

Takes place on Jinho's boat during Seongjun's backstory. You're the cook.

"This is my assistant, Seongjun. Now he's your assistant too."

Being stuck on a boat out at sea, serving food to criminals, wasn't what most kids dream of when they're 6 years old and writing out their ideal job, but if it meant evading the authorities and jail then that's fine by you.

Jinho kept you around because you knew your way around a knife, and you definitely didn't mind getting your hands messy.

Obedient, you sometimes heard him sneer. Like a sheep. Well, fuck him.

You eye up this Seongjun guy. Looks like him and Jinho are cut from the same cloth.

Seongjun thinks you're quiet, a bit too quiet for his liking.

Taking to your duties and tasks with tunnel vision and a ruthless tenacity. He doesn't know what to make of you.

"You're handling the fish wrong," are your first words to him, a few days after he incessantly buzzed around your dinky little makeshift kitchen.

Your hand grazed his when you grabbed the fish and hip-checked him to move aside.

It's been so long since Seongjun felt a touch that wasn't intended to hurt, that the question mark over you grows bigger.

You show Seongjun how to rinse the rice properly, he wasn't even aware that there was a wrong way.

How to season food appropriately, and that peppermint leaves rubbed under the nose comes in handy to keep the stench of all the seafood away.

With practiced hands, how to clean the scales, the fin and fillet the fish. Removing most of the bones in one piece, making the most of the meat.

When Seongjun first does it and butchers the attempt, you give him a light slap on the arm and a huff.

He gives you a smile in return.

Seongjun watches you move around in the kitchen.

Your ease and flow in the kitchen gives him some semblance of peace.

It reminds him a little of his mom and his heart aches.

Little anecdotes of Seongjun's life in Japan slips through. He focuses on the good things, as few as there was.

He tells you a little of his judo when you poke fun at his cauliflower ears.

You tell him how important it is to not waste any food when prepping, and he in returns shares how his mother always makes the most amazing meals out of next to nothing.

One day, Seongjun mentions that if things worked out, he would have liked to have opened up a soba noodle shop with his mom.

You ask him if he could make you some noodles. Give you a little taste of what that life could have been like.

Seongjun places the noodles in front of you, served in a mess-tin. The boat had little room and the men had little appreciation for luxuries such as crockery.

You take a mouthful-

And find it absolutely revolting.

Seongjun watches you as you school your face and swallow it down with a struggle.

"Is it good?"

"... Not bad." You grit out your little white lie, thinking about his soba shop dream. You could at least give him this mercy.

It's unexpected when he laughs. Is this the first time you have seen and heard this? His face looks years younger, and the sound surprisingly care-free. You didn't think people like you and him were still capable of such joy.

"Sorry. I actually messed it up."

"Baek Seongjun! And you still fed me this shit?"

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he tells you "Yes."

You're in half a mind to pour the rest of this disgusting meal all over him. But seeing him like this, it's contagious.

The sound of your laughter soon joins his.

Years from now, when Seongjun is building his life in South Korea, he still remembers you giggling alongside him.

It reminds him that some things in life are priceless.

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arkus-rhapsode · 6 days

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When you see yourself in trash (Gachiakuta Discussion)

So with the positive reception of my recent thinkpiece, I wanted to make good on my promise that I’d post more. And this has kinda been one I’ve been wanting to do for a while. But due to the deeply personal nature of it, I wanted to really give it the time it deserved to come together.

This is going to be a post about Gachiakuta, which if my multiple posts on it haven’t been an indicator, I'm kinda a big fan. But what’s more, I really wanted to talk about why Gachiakuta speaks to me more in depth.

Background

So for those who don’t know, Gachiakuta is a weekly manga series by mangaka Kei Urana. Urana is a former assistant of the student of the Soul Eater and Fire Force creator, Atsushi Okubo. This series premiered shortly after Okubo’s Fire Force finished up, and stars a young boy named Rudo who lives in the slum area of a place called “The Sphere” (Or Heaven depending on the translation). Rudo has a habit of stealing from waste deposit sites and repairing broken items he finds. He lives with his adopted father Regeto after his biological father was sentenced to “The Abyss” for murder. The Abyss is a gaping chasm where all of the Sphere’s trash and prisoners are dumped.

Rudo is a somewhat surly child, and noticeably struggles with properly expressing his emotions despite the fact he is a highly emotional person. Smiling in particular is a struggle for him. Rudo one day comes to find Regto killed by a mysterious masked man, and blamed for this crime. Rudo is sentenced to the Abyss where he cries in anger he will return and kill everyone here. In the Abyss, Rudo is met by monsters made of trash and people devoted to fighting them, the Cleaners (Or Janitors depending on the translation). This fighting force of magic garbage men use the power of a “Giver” to empower items dear to them known as Jinki. With Rudo discovering that he can do the same with his gloves given to him by Regeto. Now he’ll work with the Cleaners killing trash monsters as he unravels the mystery of who killed his adoptive father and how he’ll escape the Abyss.

And it has been the newest manga series in the last four years that has not only made me feel hyped but await every chapter since its release.

Now if everything I said previously sounded like “well that sounds like a fairly straight forward if somewhat interestingly flavored revenge action manga. What makes it special?” Well then we’re going have to talk about Rudo.

Rudo

So Gachiakuta is a series with a lot of weirdos in it and some unconventional story structures to it (and we’ll touch on that later) but I think the character who embodies the core of this series is its MC, Rudo.

On the surface Rudo is a character that could feel at home with any number of shonen manga protags. Really expressive, yells a lot, spiky hair, and a power that’s kinda special amongst its power system. Basically, If Deku from MHA was a bit more angry and sleep deprived, you probably think he and Rudo were the same person on the surface. And for the most part, Rudo seemed to be that way, an angry kid out for revenge who treasured the last remaining gift he received from his foster father. Yet then we get to chapter 15 of Gachiakuta. A truly special chapter.

When Griss, Rudo’s teammate for this mission, was run through with claws by the villain, Jabber Wongar, Rudo seems to suffer some for of PTSD as the world goes hazy and he sees Griss as Regeto, stabbed and bleeding. We cut to Rudo as a child in Regto’s care and there, Rudo is banging his head against a wall to the point blood is coming out.

When Regto asks why Rudo would do this, the only thing Rudo can describe is how he has nothing. He has these feelings he doesn’t know how to describe yet he believes he’s nothing from the abuse he suffered at the hands of parents. All he has to really express it it this sort of frustration. While Rudo’s parents being murders may have been a lot for any child, Rudo carries literal scars given to him by his father. His hands peeled and scared and burnt black. The pain in his hands stops when he wears the gloves Regto gave him.

And when Regto wants Rudo to find something to focus his passion into, the thing that catches Rudo’s attention the most is a broken mannequin. Rudo cries letting out those feelings he said he couldn’t describe. Wanting to fix something and can’t believe it was tossed away because it was “a little broken.” At that moment, Regto realizes something about Rudo. He sees himself in those same objects that weren’t valued and tossed away.

So this is where I get to one of the things about Gachiakuta and Rudo in particular that speaks to me. Rudo, to me, is an example of a neurodivergent child and the text actually bothers to focus on how this affects his life. Now I know the moment I’ve said that there will be a lot of people who want me to explain, and the first thing is, no the manga doesn’t come out and say that Rudo is on the spectrum. But rather it lays a pretty explicit analogy to someone who may not be typical in some regard mentally or emotionally. I know in the space of neurodivergent individuals representation is… difficult. Not just to find in the media, but also represented in a way that isn’t just “they’re a super genius.” Because there are many many forms of neurodivergence and how the manifest can be different for many individuals. Someone with ADHD may have their life affected in ways different than someone diagnosed with Autism. This is where I think it's very important for me to say, I’m just one guy on the spectrum. I’m speaking from my personal experience but you shouldn’t take my opinion as gospel. This is just me and my experiences. And my personal reading of this

So when I say, a “mentally different character” in the media can be a tricky tightrope to walk, I mean it. Wanting there to be a positive representation for a community that may not get representation, but also not wanting to be like some monolithic depiction of what living with one of these conditions may be like. And there are plenty of ways where this could go very wrong (Anyone remember the time Aquaman cured Autism?). So when the text can’t just say “I am X” it's not uncommon for the readers to begin to see or relate to how a character may act. Speaking of how they act, in the case of anime and manga another “complication” can occur in the fact that many of these characters can act… well whacky and that’s treated as most acceptable in the universe. Whereas in real life, its likely anywhere from Gon to Goku would get side eye with their behavior. And thus you have the basis for plenty of head canons, one prominently being a character’s place on the spectrum.

Let's take any character, say Rill Boismortier from the series Black Clover. He’s a relatively second character in the series with an aptitude for art magic, who had locked himself in his room isolating himself from others till his butler reached him and now he’s a very eccentric, excitable, outgoing character. From the fact that he has a fixation on art to things like making sounds that could be read as vocal stimming, Rill could be read as an autistic character.

Or how about we look at one of the more memetic takes of the internet and all the jokes that Fern and Frieren from Frieren: Beyond the Journey’s End are autistic. This joke mainly comes from how in this world everything has a cool, somewhat mellow vibe with many people acting very muted. With Frieren herself struggling with making a distinction in the passage of time thanks to her elven aging and trying to understand the human condition. And Fern also a relatively reserved and subdued individual only really expresses her feeling a sensation of frustration or annoyance through “Kawaii pouting” puffing out her cheeks.

There are plenty more examples, but I wanted to illustrate that there are characters in manga and anime that I believe-yes, someone with neurodivergence could identify with, however, would I go as far as to say that this was the writer's original intention? Well choosing to err on the side of caution, I'm going to guess not likely. Someone could easily say, “you’re reading too much into it. There is nothing in the canon that outright says that. Rill is just a joke character, Frieren is a completely different species so it can’t really be neuro-atypical from a human standpoint, Fern’s pouting is just a gap moe trope.” And to be honest, I don’t necessarily think people holding these beliefs would be wrong. Nor do I wish to imply that if someone sees themselves in one of these characters that means they’re on the spectrum.

I'm saying there’s nothing wrong with either option. If you are someone neurodivergent and you see yourself in someone like Rill, that’s great. If you are someone who isn’t neurodivergent but still sees themselves in someone like Rill, that’s also great. The point I’m trying to make is that it may be unintentional, but a neurodivergent person seeing a neurodivergent story inside a specific character can happen and in many ways offer insights into the character.

And for someone like me who has spent a long time coming to grips with how my atypicality has affected my identity, Rudo’s story hit me. Hit me in a way I don’t think many series have. Rudo is a character who shows a fixation on trash, particularly broken pieces of trash. His old wounds he covers and just the feelings on this specific piece of clothing is able to make the feelings of his wounds go away. And just the way he described having emotion inside, but not being able to properly express it to the point he was doing self harm, it tore me up inside.

Made even more dramatic by the fact that Rudo is having this flashback being triggered by Griss being stabbed. Griss is a guy Rudo has known for a day who is shown to be a cool guy, but most importantly, when Rudo spent his welcome party sulking in a corner all tied up in his shell, only for Griss to ask him about his future. Rudo truly was feeling like he was losing a fatherly figure again in front of him

This was one of the moments that in my mind showed me the sort of direction this series wanted to go in with Rudo. Edgy, dark, cool, and stylistic revenge series in manga have existed for years. In fact, they’ll exist long after Gachiakuta and myself have expired. Many of these series can vary on the portrayal of their MC, conflicted, ready to embrace destruction, righteous in their pursuit, yet Gachiakuta has been unique for me, seeing Rudo have all the hallmarks for a vengeful story yet people always come to speak with him on his behavior.

Not in a sort of guidance counselor way, but more in a natural way of trying to make this kid who has had a life where he hasn’t had to properly think about/experience certain things life can throw at you and they want him to improve. From telling him it's okay to not know what he wants to do in the future, to letting him know it's okay to make mistakes, to learning how to properly have a conversation and connect with others. I think a lot of these moments can feel like sweet nothings, but for me I saw it as a part of growing up. Or rather something I wanted growing up. I’ve experienced many moments of my life where I felt lost not in small part to the fact it felt like no one could meet me on my ground. And something about Gachiakuta is the attempt that almost every character has made trying to reach Rudo and show him a form of empathy. And as the series has gone on that empathy has really changed. He went from a kid not understanding what was wrong about saying “I'm only working with you till fulfill my goal!,” demanding cooperation from others, to actively trying to ask for help when hears of an opportunity to come closer to his goal.

This sort of vulnerability I think was present in his moment screaming his revenge. He’s visibly crying. Despite all the bluster and crassness, there’s clearly a frustrated and overwhelmed boy who has been condemned by a society that brands him “unclean.” This is also where I should mention Urana is an absolute master with art and expressions. Making everyone feel so alive. Rudo’s faces are an absolute highlight. Despite a person who seems set up to have a chip on his shoulder, he may be one of the wackiest in just how big he can let his emotions go. Which ties into our next part.

Zodyl and the Watchman Series

Now I'm sure you’re wondering, “Arkus, you said that this manga hasn’t hard confirmed Rudo is actually neurodivergent, yet you say the text makes the analogy so does someone finally say it?” Well to answer that, I’m gonna need to talk about the main villain of this series and the tools he’s after, The Watchman series.

Our seemingly main antagonist of the series is a man named Zodyl Typhon, leader of the organization The Raiders (Or the Vandals depending on the translation) a group of evil givers who seem to be devoted to the destruction of The Sphere. As they living in a world where the natural order is simply that they are a people who have garbage raining down upon them. Polluting them, crushing them, and people of the Abyss have gradually become accustomed to it all. Zodyl wants to shock the system and he wishes to get his hands on all the various powerful Jink known as the “Watchman series.” So far it's known that only Rudo’s gloves, Amo’s boots, and Zodyl’s coat are part of this set.

Zodyl is depicted as an amoral, somewhat sociopathic person, with intense eyes, viewing people as experiments to test his theories, and showing practically no emotion. He describes each piece of the Watchman series as containing extremely powerful emotions in them. A normal person couldn’t use these items with going mad due to these emotions. Yet people like Rudo and Zodyl haven't gone mad. Well that’s being they’re not like others.

In one of the most painful visual analogies, Zodyl describes that in this world there are people born missing pieces that every other human is born with. This leaves them as something sort of empty. WIth Rudo knowing exactly what he’s talking about. This was already hinted at by Amo who says wearing her Watchman boots feels as though she’s a toy that had a new battery inside. Zodyl doesn’t think that missing something fundamental is a bad thing though, in his opinion not being born with it has made him a vessel for this power.

I once again cannot say with a hundred percent certainty that Kei Urana was intentionally channeling the experiences of those who may be told “they’re not like others because they were born atypical” but it's so hard for me to not read it that way. Especially the part where Zodyl rejects the idea that there’s anything wrong with this. He’s not wrong for how he’s born, look at all the cool stuff he can do now. While Rudo stands there and thinks about how isolated he felt from everyone else. It's easy to see these as two very valid responses to someone with a mental health diagnosis, lamenting how this puts you at odds with others and how being different in this way makes it harder for you to connect. While the other rejects needing the validation of others, there isn’t a problem.

Once again, no one just flat out says it, but so much of the subtext is basically there in your face in regards to Watchman and Zodyl’s speech. But the fact this power is only wielded by something that is described as a missing piece. With the image of a heart in pieces. To me, the emphasis placed on the value of one’s emotional and mental capacity as something that can be filled, like its just so out there how can I not see something there?

Well maybe its because I want to?

Artistic Interpretation

Look, I'm not gonna to give you a dry lecture on the value of artistic interpretation. I think we’re all mature enough that multiple people can have multiple different interpretations of a single world. With art being something that lends itself to being read in a variety of ways. I'm not making this post to delegitimize any interpretation.

Rather I wanted to come all the way back to the pin I put in when mentioning the unconventional story structures. Now it should come to no one’s surprise that the woman who was an assistant and student of the guy who made Soul Eater makes some bizarre choices. Not the least of which being the characters and tone.

No, rather I wanna touch on something that I find Urana and Okubo do better than a lot of people which is visual interpretation. Both utilize the visual aspect of this visual medium to make some points. But rather, both of them allow these visuals to hang out there and allow you the reader to come to your own interpretation of this.

This type of storytelling in my opinion can force the audience to actually engage with the work in a deeper meaningful way. While some would argue that it leaves things open in a way that may never truly be satisfying. I think in the case of Gachiakuta it has less of that tha an Okubo work, but there are plenty of things I do believe Urana leaves out there for you to read as you will.

When I see her going out of her way to make a doll with their heart missing and a man describing a feeling of them missing, Uruana is not expressly saying anything, but allowing us the audience to decide how we read it. I'm certain she has her own way of viewing this story, but I do appreciate that she’s allowed Gachiakuta to be a series where we are allowed some creative liberties. Especially in the fact this is a weekly shonen manga. A demographic I feel often can suffer from needing to make everything somewhat obvious in its meaning or intent.

But Urana really knows how to capture this sort of vibe. Allow the art to speak for itself and I find myself having to put some of myself in the series when I read and interact with it. So while I’m sure there will be people who think I have basically convinced them of nothing and that this might all be reading to deep, I do at least want to point out that Urana herself has at least allowed for me to make these connections on my own and I think that is worth something at least on her part as a creative.

Conclusion

So yeah what was that all about? Welp like I said this was to be a more personal thinkpiece. One where I wanted to work through my own feelings on why this series had me captivated. Also it's possibly my attempt to broaden the discussion of Gachiakuta.

Despite the fact many have made the prediction its gonna be a “big deal” it really isn’t. At least by pure sales wise. Nothing bad, but nothing remarkable at the time of writing this. Honestly its doing much better than a series that’s not on the extremely accessible SJ app. It’s a good series but it may just always be underground.

Every influencer wants to be on the ground floor, whether it's this, Red Hood, Kagurabachi, Nue’s Exorcist, Astro Royale, Mama Yuyu, Centuria, etc. I get that hype and memes are a powerful thing in this internet consumer world. But I do want a series that may be big or important one day to touch on things that make it good beyond hype and anticipation.

And for me that is what I got with Gachiakuta. There’s an element to it that I haven’t really felt in manga in other media. And the fact it could make me feel that… that’s special to me. I know I’ve talked about some heavy topics and I do hope I was as respectful as I possibly could be. Opening up like this was hard for me.

As I do truly love this series and hoped I could illustrate why it resonated with me, perhaps it resonated with a lot of people who can see themselves in this one trashy boy.

I hope everyone reading can have that sort of character they see themselves in, and if you enjoyed please like or reblog as it tells me you'd be interested in reading more

#discussion #manga #anime #gachiakuta #rudo #rudo surebrec #zodyl typhon #gachiakuta zodyl #autism #neurodivergent #interpretation #black clover #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #fern frieren #frieren #rill boismortier

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wosoimagines · 1 year

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First Christmas - Kellex/Reader

I really did probably take at least a whole year to get to this and I'm so sorry. However, I'm really excited about this one. When I was clearing out my inbox, this was one I made sure to keep because I really did like the idea.

prompt: sorry i have no idea if your requests are opened but i was wondering if you could continue your kellex x reader fic and make one where r and kellex experience their first christmas together. maybe add some cute moments in and fluff between all three? idk it’s up to you!

warnings: none

words: 1199

(Y/N) POV

"(Y/N), wake up!"

It wasn't exactly the best way to be woken up especially considering I wasn't even in school at the moment. I groaned as I looked over to my clock.

"Go away," I grumbled as I shoved my face back into my pillow. "It isn't even 11 am yet."

"Nope, you're getting up."

I felt Kelley pulling at my blanket and I immediately let go of my pillow to grab a hole of it. The two of us struggled for a moment before Kelley eventually won due to the fact that I was still practically asleep.

"Get up," Kelley said as she shook my shoulder. I only groaned again. "We're going to open up presents and then have breakfast as a family."

"Why can't we do this at a reasonable time?" I asked.

"This is a reasonable time."

"6 am is not a reasonable time, Mama. I don't even have homework to do."

I got not response from Kelley which made me smile as I started to doze off again.

"Nope! You called me Mama, so that means you have to get up and join us downstairs because it's Christmas and you're apart of this family."

I hadn't even realized that I had in fact called Kelley Mama. It was true to be fair. I had even admitted as much to my therapist, but I hadn't exactly expressed the feelings to Kelley or Alex yet.

"Then I vote that we change this tradition to start after 11 in the morning."

There was a knock on my door but I didn't have to look at it to know who was there.

"Alex, (Y/N) isn't getting up."

"And I thought I was supposed to be the kid in this family," I mumbled into my pillow

I ignored the two as they continued to talk to each other. That was until Alex sat next to me on my bed.

"You know if you get up, you can go back to sleep after breakfast."

"Hmmm, or I could just sleep until 11."

"She's not gonna stop until you get up," Alex softly said to me. I ignored her as I only shoved my face farther into my pillow. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I felt Alex move away from me and off of my bed. I didn't even bother to question it, but I should have known better by now.

One second I was happily falling back to sleep with both of my parents leaving me to sleep.

And then the next, I had a bowl of cold water splashing on my head.

I couldn't jump up fast enough from that.

"DUDE!"

I immediately took to shaking my head to try to get the water off of my head, which in hindsight was a bad idea because I just made a bigger mess.

"What was that for!"

"It's Christmas!"

I glared at my shorter parent. I knew I couldn't entirely blame them. They still often forgot that I didn't have the same childhood as they did.

"I don't care! Christmas for me does NOT mean the same thing that it does for you!" I snapped. It was entirely fair of me to snap at them for them just wanting to include me in their holiday traditions, but in the moment I didn't care. "For me, it's just another day! It's just a day to be reminded that I'm not like other people my age! I'm not supposed to get things on Christmas! It's always just been another day for me!"

I shoved past both of the older women as I headed for my bathroom. Neither of them made a move to follow me as I slammed the bathroom door behind me and locked it.

I didn't even bother moving toward the shower as I slid down against the door. I kept my head between my knees as I took a few deep breaths.

It had been uncalled for. It truly had. Kelley and Alex were just trying to make sure that they included me. It wasn't fair to them that I had blown up on them for doing exactly what they should have.

I sighed before I got up and grabbed a towel. I used it to dry my head off before I brushed my teeth. I was at least going to make sure I had time to gain the courage before I accepted my consequences.

I was just about to put my hand on the door knob when the door echoed through the door.

"(Y/N)? I'm sorry," Kelley said from the other side. I froze as I placed my hand on the door instead. "I shouldn't be trying to push you so hard. I know that you aren't used to this. I know that, but I just want you to feel like you're apart of this family because you are. It's something I have to work on, I know. It's just... I want you to call me Mama and I want you to call Alex Mom. I just want to make sure you know you're apart of this family."

I sighed as I took it in and rested my forehead against the door. They were both so good to me. I really didn't deserve it. I wasn't sure how long I stood there processing what exactly she had said, but I knew it must have been a couple of minutes at least.

"I'm gonna be downstairs with Alex. We'll wait on you until you are ready to join us."

I quickly opened the door before darting forward to wrap her into a hug.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"Hey, (Y/N), you have nothing to be sorry about."

"But I hurt your feelings. I know I did."

"No. No, you didn't. I promise, (Y/N)," Kelley said as I refused to let her go. "I swear, you didn't. You were right. We keep trying to throw you into things that you aren't ready for. You can take all the time you need. We will even change our traditions because you are want is important here."

"I want to be apart of the traditions."

"Hey, and you will be," Kelley assured me as she pulled back so that she could look at my face. "You always will be. I promise. Alex and I aren't going anywhere. And if we have to change traditions, then we'll change traditions for you. Just keep in mind that we're still getting used to this as well."

"I love you," I admitted. It was my first time saying it. "I love you both. Please just don't leave me."

"We won't. I promise, (Y/N). We won't leave you."

I pulled her back into a hug. It meant so much just to hear that.

"Tell you what, we'll start talking with you about traditions so that we can all have fun with them," Kelley said. "How about that."

"Could we... Could we keep the early morning Christmas tradition?" I asked hesitantly. "Maybe not the dumping water on my head, but I think I'd like to have the early morning Christmas next year."

"We can do whatever you want. I promise."

"Thanks... Mama."

#alex morgan imagine #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagines #kelley o'hara imagine #kelley o'hara x reader #kelley o'hara imagines #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year

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Day 8: Forever Winter, Logan Howlett

Song link

Fanfic, fem!mutant(not specified)!Reader

Brief angst, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2632

Tw: Not proofread! Mention/description of concussions, descriptions of dizziness. References to combat. Mentions of loss (younger students). Self-blaming, drinking/alcohol. Use of painkillers (pills).

Summary: After a rough mission, you lost a handful of students. Trying to sleep off your concussion, Logan retreats to the kitchen, coping in his own ways. You encounter him late at night, and remember him that there is no need for him to deal with this alone.

“He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days He says, "Why fall in love, just so you can watch it go away?".”

The flight back to the mansion was quiet. It had been a difficult mission for the entire group. Only half of the people you’ve left with made it back on the plane. You kept telling yourself that the risks were made clear; it had been a dangerous mission and everyone knew it. Everyone who left agreed on the terms. This was their decision.

Yet, it hurt. You were lucky enough to make it back with just a handful of scratches and bruises. And a light concussion, but that was not what your mind was on at the moment.

As your eyes struggled to stay open, they remained trained on the man in front of you. He was staring at his lap, silent remorse laced within his features. Logan never did share his worries or concerns vocally. He suffered in silence. And where others wouldn’t notice, you did. You were one of the only ones. And each time you tried to comfort him, he would walk away.

“He spends most of his nights wishing it was how it used to be He spends most of his flights getting pulled down by gravity.”

As the plane landed with a light thud, he had stood up almost immediately, already making way to the door, even though the machines had yet to turn off. Though dizzy and tired, you followed him immediately. Logan had been your partner for two years now, and your closest friends several years before that; you were not to leave him alone at this time.

As you stumbled over to him, white spots took over momentarily, but after blinking at the floor twice, they lessened. A hand was placed upon your shoulder, gaining your interest. Looking up slowly, you tried to show him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t do stupid things.” Logan uttered, slowly retreating his hands as you regained your balance.

“Don’t steal my words.” You returned, holding onto Scott’s chair as the engines finally turned off.

Mere seconds later, the door opened, and Logan gently grabbed your arm. You would have wondered why he hadn’t run off yet, but you shook the thought off as sudden weightlessness took over.

Perhaps he had been right to escort you down the stairs at least.

“I call just checkin' up on him He's up, 3 AM pacin' He says, "It's not just a phase I'm in" My voice comes out beggin'.”

The second your body had hit your mattress, Logan had left again. You figured he would have, but it didn’t lessen the pain. Regardless of that, you had fallen asleep quite quickly, and quite easily. It wasn’t until two hours later that you would wake up.

For a school filled with teenagers, 3 AM was surprisingly quiet. No secret whispers, or rushed footsteps. Complete and utter silence. Yet, you could not bring yourself to fall back asleep.

Your head was still pounding, though less severe than before. Rising from your spot, you stretched your arms, hissing at the sore muscles.

You could really go for some good tea now.

“All this time I didn't know You were breakin' down I'd fall to pieces on the floor If you weren't around.”

Stumbling down the stairs gently, doing your best not to wake any students, you reached the ground floor. The light in the kitchen was still on, as it often was. Though the children did not barge into the kitchen quite often, the professor was still kind enough to leave something on for them.

And it was a guiding light for you in the darker hall. At the moment, it was only convenient for you.

As you sneaked into the room, you were relieved to find no one at the tables. You had just woken up from a difficult mission; you were not going to rant about it any time soon. Yet, your silent prayers went unheard as you turned towards the fridge, coming face to face with Logan, who was downing - what appeared to be - his third beer.

A startled yelp escaped you, your hand shooting towards your heart in reflex. The man merely stared at you, an amused smirk spreading across his face.

“That scary, huh?” He remarked.

You simply rolled your eyes at him, lowering your hands whilst you grabbed a bottle from the fridge.

“Terrifying.” You spoke sarcastically.

“Too young to know it gets better I'll be summer sun for you forever Forever winter if you go.”

As you seated yourself on one of the bar stools, you reached for the small box of medicines, snatching paracetamol from it. Logan sat down next to you, staring at your hands.

“Still in pain?” He offered, breaking the piece into two bits as you handed him the medicine.

“Unless the lights are offending your eyes as well, I figured one more wouldn’t hurt.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, now observing your movements. At first, you considered it to be because of your earlier scare to the group, but even from your focused looks on your glass, you knew something else was plaguing his mind. And you feared you knew exactly what that was.

Turning your head slightly, you gave him a smile. Hoping to somehow still soothe some of his worries. You knew your attempts would be futile, but you tried nonetheless. The only thing you got in return was a tight-lipped smile. Sighing at the smile, you set down your glass, now turning to face him completely.

“He seems fine most of the time, forcing smiles and neverminds His laugh is a symphony, when the lights go out, it's hard to breathe.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Logan.” You tried to offer in sympathy. The grin from his lips fell, and he was about to speak up. You stopped him before he could, holding up a hand to silently halt him.

“Don’t lie to me, please.”

And just like that, the words died on his lips. Sometimes you could curse yourself for knowing him so well. You ran a hand through your hair, your eyes falling upon your lap, before rising to meet his once more.

“Words will not make up for this loss, I know,” You began. “But they knew what they were running into. We all did. We knew the risks, and we were prepared to die for it. We should respect their wishes instead of pressing the matter further and further.” Your hand came to rest on top of him. A silent gesture of comfort. “We are not built for all that grief.”

“I pull at every thread, tryna solve the puzzles in his head Live my life scared to death he'll decide to leave instead.”

A moment of silence filled the air before Logan decided to speak up: “They were only kids. They weren’t ready.”

Frowning upon the words, you pulled your hand back, swallowing thickly. He was right; they were young. You hated that they decided to sit in that plane before it even took even. You remembered the arguments you had held with several student about the matter. You tried to get a couple to pull out, but your attempts remained futile.

You were blaming yourself before it had even happened. Logan always blamed himself after the blow. You understood his pain.

But no words could correct what happened, or even properly formulate the events.

Nights like these were the worst.

“I call just checkin' up on him He's up, 5 AM wasted Long gone, not even listening My voice comes out screamin'.”

“The second you got slammed into that wall, I should have pulled them out of there,” Logan went on, referring to the cause of your earlier concussion. “But I stood there. And I stared.”

“Before you ran in and carried me out of there.” You filled in, rubbing your sore shoulder as the images flew past you. “You made a decision right in your eyes, at that exact moment. If you had left me there, you’d be sitting here with just as much remorse.”

A pained silence took over as you doubted your next words. “We don’t get to make it out of these missions without regrets and hauntings.”

His hand reached for his pocket, already pulling out a cigar he had stacked away for later. At the sight, you squint your eyes together, slapping his hand.

“Will you stop that?”

“I don’t get to smoke?” He grumbled.

“No.” Came your simple answer. “We don’t get to drink and smoke this away.”

“We? No. I do.” He replied, standing up and opening a window on the other side of the room.

“All this time I didn't know You were breakin' down I'd fall to pieces on the floor If you weren't around.”

Brief anger flooded through you, and you shot up from your chair. Too swift for your head to process its movements. White dots covered your vision, your hand immediately grasping the corners of the kitchen island. Your knees buckled briefly, but you were able to remain your posture, now focused on the floor, instead of on your boyfriend, who had already rushed towards you.

A hand came into contact with your back. Gently, but firmly. You did not look up, but you knew he was next to you. Tears began to gather in your eyes as you kept staring at the floor.

“This is difficult for me too, okay?” You mumbled out, now nearly scared to look up. “But I will not sit by while you use self destructive coping mechanisms for grief.”

“I know,” Logan uttered, his hand now grasping your waist as he turned you around slowly, letting you adjust to the room and its lights again.

Giving up on fighting, you let your head fall forward, resting against his chest. You were too tired for all of this. If he were to smoke his worries away, so be it. You’d scold him for it later. When you weren’t on the verge of passing out again.

“Too young to know it gets better I'll be summer sun for you forever Forever winter if you go.”

“You okay now?” He asked, his free hand running to the back of your head, slowly pushing your hair back.

“I don’t want to fight over this, Logan.” You sighed. “This is no matter to be fought about. I just…”

Your words trailed off, fatigue settling into your features. You really could do with a couple hours of rest. You shouldn’t have left your bed.

“I just don’t want you to think you are alone in this.” Finally, your head raised, and your eyes met Logan’s.

“You don’t need to hide in the kitchen at night to deal with this on your own. I am right beside you. Just call.”

His eyes softened at your words, the hint of a sympathetic smile gracing his features. What was he to say now? Simply let all of it slip out? Or just the pieces he knew you’d be able to help with? How were words to solve this ordeal?

“If I was standin' there in your apartment I'd take that bomb in your head and disarm it I'd say I love you even at your darkest And please don't go.”

Your hand gently touched his, lingering on your waist as well. And as simple as that touch, everything began spilling out.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” He whispered. Silently, quietly. As if he was scared others would hear him through the halls.

“The kids, losing them…” He halted briefly, tucking your head under his chin. “It’s a pain you can’t even describe, but the loss of someone you know. Someone you’re close to.”

A deep sigh filled the air, and for a moment, you could swear his grip on your body tightened. Very short, and very light, but you knew it was there.

“When your body hit that wall today, there was a moment I thought I saw the life slip out of you. If there is anything beside our losses today that will haunt me, it is that memory.”

“I didn't know You were breakin' down I'd fall to pieces on the floor If you weren't around.”

The terrifying chill of a silent response flew through the air, and Logan could not even begin to describe how much he hated it. And thus, he parted from you, one hand still entwined with yours, though more loosely now.

“I have been through worse.” You tried to reassure, hoping to somehow lift that burden off his shoulders.

“And that worries me,” The man rejected. “Where will you draw the line?”

Staring into his eyes, it was now your turn to squeeze his hand. “Where you will.”

Whether he should or should not have taken peace with that, he truly could not tell in that exact moment. But it seemed as if your fatigue had slipped into him. He could start an entire debate on those mere words, but neither of you had the energy to follow up to them.

So he spoke the only words that would make sense to the both of you.

“Come to bed?”

“Too young to know it gets better I'll be summer sun for you forever Forever winter if you go.”

The walk back to your room had been longer than you thought the journey to the kitchen had been. Perhaps because the grief now lay heavier on your mind. Or the fact that Logan had just confessed everything in that room and you left him with a “I have been through worse”.

But the walk was not dreadful.

It was the moment your body slid under the covers again that filled you with anxiety. Logan hadn’t spoken since that whole ordeal in the kitchen. But now, you could not decipher him. It was difficult to tell if he was mad or not.

Through the little cracks between the curtains, moonlight luminated the room. Not enough for you to make out every detail, but enough for you to notice Logan was changing into more comfortable clothes.

Heat rushed to your face, as you turned around. You’ve seen him in a lot less than just pants, but the sight never failed to make you flustered.

“I'll be your summer sun forever At 3 AM pacin' All this time I didn't know At 5 AM wasted.”

Seconds later, the bed dipped beside you, letting you know your boyfriend had finally joined you. You did not dare to utter another word, silently wishing you could fall asleep instantly.

But then his hands found your waist, and before you could say anything about it, he had pulled your figure into his. A long sigh escaped from his mouth, before he planted a short, but firm kiss on the top of your head.

“I still love you, bub.” He mumbled, placing your back against his chest as his legs entangled with yours.

The sheer relief that sentence brought you, could not even be written down. It was that moment of peace and solitude after a test where so much anxiety and doubt went into.

It was all okay.

“I'd be in pieces on the floor. Forever winter if you go. He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days.”

“I love you too.” You whispered back, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it up to your lips, placing a chaste kiss to it.

“Talk to me, next time.” You continued, nestling against his chest.

A low hum vibrated through his chest as he held you closer, his breath now fanning over your neck.

“I promise.”

“I say, "Believe in one thing, I won't go away".”

—

Taglist: @eerie-inn

I changed the request slightly to fit the story more. Still hope you like it!

#november writings 2022 #X-men #Logan howlett #wolverine #Hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader

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berat-yalaz · 1 month

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I MISSED YOU A LITTLE MORE TODAY:

I do not expect everybody to read this. If it's an issue, please just scroll on. It will be dealt with vaguely enough in follow up paragraphs and threads that the main points will be clear without it. This para, and the one that follows, are a bit depressing and deal with some very triggering topics that not everyone will want to read. That's completely okay and I understand if you scroll past. And whilst I know this is role play and it's supposed to be an escape where people don't have to deal with this shit, writing about it is important to me. But I do so fully understanding it's not for everyone's consumption. So please do what's best for you. I never intended to become this attached to Berat, but I also never intended him to be such a reflection of myself. The combination of depression and addiction that I put into his biography is devastating and life ruining and a difficult hurdle to overcome, and the reason it's the most personal and painful one I've ever written is because I understand how that feels. I also understand how the pain of loss compounds it day after day, and makes dealing with both almost impossible. I don't want to not write about this, because the struggle is so fundamental to his character that avoiding it would feel like a cop out. Not everything has a happy end. Not everybody makes it out the other side, because life isn't always as kind as it should be. That said, I want to make clear before the para, because the end is both vague and obviously foreshadowed: his upcoming death is not intentional on his part. The heroin is laced with fentanyl and he has no idea. But in a way, that seemed an even more fitting end than making it a purposeful choice. Still, proceed with caution for these two please. Next one will be from Ayaz later. Thank you. Date: March 16th, 2024. Warnings: Implied future drug use, severe depression, thoughts bordering on un-aliving oneself, precursor to overdose, precursor to character death. I tried to keep it vague, but it hints at a bad time.

How little would she think of him now?

It wouldn’t be unwarranted, of course, after all he’d done. After the pain he’d caused those he would so vehemently say meant the world to him.

Didn’t mean the idea hadn’t hurt, though.

“I missed you a little more today.”

It’d been a consistent routine; for those words, that admission, to be the last to leave him before he sought sleep. Survived one more day without her. This time, though, as Berat ventured further into the rundown and disorganised mess of a flat, he picked up the photograph of the woman in question from its home on the mantelpiece. Even the most beautiful smile in the world, the kindest eyes looking right back at him, couldn’t stop the hurt today. Neither were a match for the gnawing in his chest, and the guilt buried so deep in his gut he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten…

It’d been three weeks since Kerem had found out about him and Nevra.

Three weeks since he’d dared leave his home.

Three weeks since even Nazli had stopped trying.

And he deserved that, you know. He deserved to lose the only person who’d stuck by him through his darkest moments, because eventually, everyone had to run out of chances. Berat didn’t know whether it was the personal betrayal of Kerem that’d pushed her over the edge, or the fact he’d chosen the woman who’d been indirectly responsible for his downfall in the first place—a Rutherford sympathiser, to twist the knife—but she’d drawn a line, and he’d heard it loud and clear.

This time, he wasn’t worth the struggle.

And that was okay. And Berat didn’t blame her. And maybe it would have saved them all a whole lot of pain if she’d just made that same realisation a few years earlier.

The man flipped the pristine wooden frame he now held in his hands, carefully turning the clasps at the back so he could remove the photograph held within. Berat wasn’t sure he’d ever been bold enough to do so since he’d put it there; so scared of damaging one of the few tangible reminders he had left that he could only ever want to observe from a distance. Maybe that was a lesson he should’ve carried through into life, too. To not risk irreparably marring precious and beautiful things he’d never fucking deserved in the first place.

He was holding it, then. A piece of paper in his hands all he had left.

And he was glad today that she was gone so she didn’t have to see him like this.

They all told him they wanted him to be happy, but he’d never asked it to find him the way it had. Life was cruel like that, he supposed. With one hand it gave, and the other, it took away so much. So why didn’t happiness ever seem to be an ultimatum for anybody else? Berat had never sought out Nevra expecting to love her the way he did, and he’d sure never done so with the intention of hurting his best friend. But for a man whose life had been so devoid of meaning and good and anything worth trying to be a better fucking person for, how could he not want for it?

You won’t let yourself be happy. And for a long time, that was because he didn’t feel he deserved to feel happiness in a life without Ceren.

But now he wanted for that relief with the only person who’d made him feel worthy since, and the brutal reality was that it meant walking all over somebody else’s in the process.

Did Kerem have the same dilemma when he’d found Emine?

Ayda, when she’d left him?

The slow, year-long retreat he’d made from them hadn’t been an accident, and surely they must have realised that by now. It hadn’t been because he didn’t care, or because he was so scared one of them would pick up on the signs that they’d catch him in a lie. It wasn’t self-preservation, it wasn’t self-pity, and it wasn’t a choice to move on. It was because he couldn’t fucking stand himself anymore. The mere sight of what looked back at him in the mirror fucking repulsed him. So why should they have been forced to endure him, too?

Even his mother felt the sting of distance. Because where his conscience apparently lacked so far as Kerem was concerned, he couldn’t put her through the pain of witnessing her son descend into yet another downward spiral.

The woman had suffered his poor choices for long enough.

Berat removed his phone from his pocket. Replaced it, slowly and carefully so as not to damage the edges or risk a fold, with the photograph of Ceren.

Oh, she deserved so much better than where they were going.

But he didn’t want to do it without her.

Didn’t want to do any of this without her, really.

He finally glanced down at his phone. The lock screen was littered with messages from people he was too ashamed to respond to; friends, family, people who’d been waiting for him to fuck up again. Because they all were. Even the ones who’d never admit it aloud because they liked him just enough to pretend they had faith he could do better. Kerem was one of them. Whilst he might’ve loved his friend, Berat could always see it in his eyes; gaze somewhere between disappointed and pitying. But none of them had expected something like this.

But neither had he, and that seemed to be lost on them.

One name stood out from all the others, and for a brief moment, he smiled. He smiled in spite of all that’d happened, in spite of his nausea, in spite of the exhaustion, in spite of feeling so trapped that he still couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel he’d forced himself into.

Nevra.

Wondering where he was, no doubt.

‘I love you.’

And that message he carefully typed out with unsteady hands wasn’t a warning sign in itself when he told her as much every chance he got. Told her with the sincerity and gratitude of a man who’d never thought he’d say the words again and mean them like this.

Because Berat did love her.

Hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. Couldn’t help it, though.

A part of him had known from the start that there was never going to be a happy ending for them. Never going to be a ‘them’ for the long haul at all and he’d tried to make her understand that before they got too deep. His reluctance to deal with their situation, to be open about what was happening, to speak with Kerem so they didn’t have to keep living a lie had been frustrating for a woman who deserved better. Certainly, deserved more than he could ever give. But his aversion to confronting his choices had less to do with cowardice and more to do with fear of losing the one person in his life who made breathing a little easier.

Fear of losing this beautiful and unexpected thing he didn’t deserve, but was too selfish to give up.

Yet now, he realised none of it mattered. He was going to lose it all, regardless.

Maybe that was okay, though. Maybe he’d just deal with it like he always did.

Maybe he’d just fucking suffocate under the weight.

Maybe he’d die.

Berat reached into a glass dish to grab a handful of fifties. The Turk could hardly be ashamed of stooping so low as to pawn a sentimental watch after all he’d done. It was too small a guilt to scratch the surface. A small mercy, he supposed.

He put out extra food for the dogs. Extra water, too.

Left the television on so they’d at least have the illusion of company until his mum showed up to take them for breakfast in the morning.

Berat didn’t know when he’d make it back, but he was hoping it’d be a while.

Long enough to take the edge off. Long enough to stop feeling.

“I’ll be there soon,” he reminded her out loud as his hand slipped in to feel for the photograph in his pocket.

If only someone would just let him.

#self para #tw drugs #tw depression

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etchedbox · 2 years

Text

Attention

Chapter Two of DUST

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Tension, the usual DUST shenanigans

A/N: Posting chapter two since it only has very minor changes. I had a great time reworking this chapter, it's still one of my favorites. Reminder that DUST is not a pure reader insert fic, and that the Girl is an original character with physical attributes.

Chapter One here.

*****

You think about his voice as you touch yourself that night.

It’s not something you sought out. It’s an intrusion of a thought, a sudden flood of memory as your body remembers the sensation of standing so close to a Mandalorian. It was fear, but it was also excitement, years of unspent adrenaline coursing through your veins all in one instant. And his voice… you decided you liked the low baritone of it, so deep it thundered across your chest.

The hand between your legs freezes. Heavy breaths ring out in your tiny, rented, room as you try to calm yourself—

You wonder what he’ll be like. As an employer, of course. You know he’s quiet, but how much of that was an act you can’t gage. You shouldn’t even be thinking of him. Yet the Mandalorian refuses to leave your mind, and so you refuse to keep going, tearing your hand away from your body, your jaw clenching when it takes more willpower than you expect. The lower half of you is wound tight with disappointment, your arousal festering the more you deny it. That’s the second time today you’ve been left high and dry, though you doubt the stranger from the cantina would’ve given you what you’re looking for—what you needed—had things been allowed to… proceed.

You roll over to lessen the temptation of sliding your hand back exactly where you want it. You’re not going to think about the Mandalorian like this—you’re not supposed to. You don’t know anything about him and his people; you’ve only heard the stories, but that’s all they’ve ever felt like—stories.

Tonight, you had tried your best to gather whatever information on the mysterious bounty hunter floated around Nevarro. All you got from the patrons of the cantina was a semblance of Mando’s ludicrous backstory, and even that confounded you deeply. A Mandalorian who could fight off twenty men… You scoff. The Guild… The Child… You had expected some useful intel, just a inkling that could shed light on the contradiction of him: a fighter clad in beskar cradling a baby. Instead your head was filled with useless hearsay and dizzy with cheap brandy. There has to be more. You wonder how he lives, how he fights, how he fucks—

You stop yourself from thinking of it again, your breaths still coming in desperate, little, pants despite your best efforts. Fuck, you had been close before he popped into your head. An unwanted intruder in your mind. You need a release so badly you could burst, and truthfully, you don’t even remember what you had been imagining prior to him. Pressing your cheek to the cool bedsheet, you think it must be the way he moves—besides his voice, of course. You’ve spent so much of your short life among the stars that you’re more familiar with how ships cut through air than how people move.

The Mandalorian could be green under the helmet. Or he could be human, like you. But there’s something different about the way he walks, the swagger of his stride under the weight of all that beskar steel. It reminds you of what he is. A warrior.

You shut your eyes, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun rises.

*****

Mando wakes in complete darkness. The Kid is still asleep and it won’t be long until the Pilot arrives. He wasn’t prepared for her yesterday, a situation for which he blames Karga. When he found the Pilot in the back-alley of that blasted cantina, Mando had expected someone quite different. He remembers the cowering mess of a boy who stood by her, but mostly he remembers the determination in the Pilot’s eyes.

You’re looking for me.

Mando struggles in recalling all the finer details from yesterday, the sharp planes of her face or the olive color of her skin; he wants to figure out the exact reason why he’s so taken by her. And then there was that choker he glimpsed, flush to her slim neck and mostly obscured by a worn scarf. The necklace was made of a delicate metal, something that clearly had no place on the Outer Rim.

Mando feels blindly for the panel on the cot’s side, wincing as the muscles in his back stretch after another night in the cramped space. As the bright light of the Crest’s hold hits him, he studies the scars that litter his forearms—some still raised and angry, others fading into pale slivers. Mando's extremely quiet as he shuts the door and dons his armor. He shouldn’t wake the Child.

When he lowers the ramp, the Pilot’s already waiting.

He admires her profile against the dawn of the sky. There’s barely enough light for Mando to make out the outline of her, but through the visor he can see that she carries a small pack. There’s a blaster pistol, chunky and oversized, strapped to her right thigh. That wasn’t there yesterday.

“Mando.” The Pilot walks up the ramp without invitation. “I asked around about you last night.”

He pauses. He probably should have done the same for her, but he trusted Karga’s word. “And what did you hear?”

“That they call you Mando. And I heard about the Guild, the Child, how you’re good at killing…” Her voice trails off as she slides the pack off her shoulder. “But mostly I heard your ship was a piece of junk.” She dumps her pack unceremoniously on the ground. “Which I said I would be the judge of.”

She starts surveying the inside of the Crest. Most people keep their eyes on him at all times, forever wary of his reputation and the danger he presents; the Pilot doesn’t look at him at all.

When the Mandalorian offers her no reply, the Pilot doesn’t waste her time. Before Mando can stop her, she’s moving through the hold, pressing buttons and wrenching open panels. Random doors clumsily swing open, battering loudly against the sides of the metal ship.

“Hey.” His tone is sterner than he wants it to be. He’s springing into motion after her, deactivating the buttons she’s pressed, following the trail of chaos the Pilot leaves in her wake. She’s been on the Crest less than a minute and she’s already encroaching on his life—on his solitude. “Girl—"

She ignores him completely. Muttering to herself, the Pilot also ignores his weapons cabinet, the fresher and the small cot, opting to clamber up the ladder to the cockpit instead. “Hey!” Mando reaches up to stop her, but she’s unusually fast. His gloved fingers miss her ankle, slipping past it to fasten onto a metal rung. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing my job.” She doesn’t glance back as he climbs up after her. She’s too occupied with flipping more switches, not even bothering to hide her disdain when she hears the initial rumble of the engine. Her fingers are nimble, moving impossibly fast across the mechanical dashboard and only pausing intermittently to push the dark hair away from her eyes. “You do know you don’t actually don’t need an extra pilot to fly this thing, right? I’ve never even touched one of these pre-Imperial ships before. With the credits you’re offering, you could buy a droid, a nice R2 unit—”

“No droids,” Mando says pointedly. He doesn’t like how easily she slides into the pilot’s chair—how comfortable she looks. It’s his space. She turns the chair, staring up at him.

“They also mentioned that you had a… droid thing.” He can’t believe the Pilot’s already working to undermine his authority. “I have bad news for you though, Mando. Your ship is a piece of junk.”

“I just got her repaired.“

“Well—” And then the Pilot shrugs. Shrugs, like Mando’s ship—the Razor Crest— is some throwaway piece of scrap metal she found foraging in a deadbeat junkyard. “It’s not what’s on the outside that matters. The inside is a mess too. The engine and the hyperdrive… don’t get me started. I haven’t even taken a good look and I can already tell that it’s not—”

“Enough.” He’s heard this all before.

She looks around, pausing when she notices the metal ball on top of one the levers is missing. She stares at it, cocking her head, but doesn’t stop talking. “I’ll work on it,” she decides. “While you’re out doing what you do. I’m not a mechanic or a miracle maker, but your ship can use a look.” She stares up at him again.

He waits for her to ask for more of the cut, but the request never comes. After a few moments, he realizes it isn’t coming at all. In his world, one that’s dictated by cold transactions and mercenaries, her silence is confusing. She’s just waiting for his reply.

“Alright,” he agrees.

She chews her lip and looks away. “Is the Child asleep?” Her voice is quiet when she asks about the Kid.

He nods.

They stay in a comfortable silence, her sitting and him standing. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, offering him a small smile. It’s kinder than anything else she’s done so far, and though he doesn’t want to admit that he’s noticed… the Mandalorian knows the Pilot is pretty. Beautiful, even. A defined jawline, her face shaped like a heart; her bright eyes blink up at him, the juxtaposition of passion and innocence infinitely jarring. Tempting. He is curious. There are so many questions Mando wants to ask her. Where she’s from—why she’s on Nevarro when she looks like that—what she was doing with that boy yesterday.

He settles on the most harmless question he can think of: “How old are you?”

She starts at this, but recovers well. He memorizes the look on her face, the flash of uncertainty in her eyes right before she conceals it, hiding. “Twenty-five.” She doesn’t ask how old he is.

So young. Mando wouldn’t have guessed that from the way the Pilot carries herself. He counts the years back to the start of the rebellion. “You were young when you flew in the rebellion.” She doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. He regrets saying anything at all. “What did you do?”

“I was in a starfighter squadron.” She doesn’t hesitate to answer this time. There’s a weight to her response, a strange heaviness. Mando had guessed that she was a cargo pilot, or part of the crew on a command ship—not a pilot in a starfighter squadron. But now that she’s said it, it fits. The ferocity in her eyes, the determination. The hunger, threatening to consume him. The calmness and the nonchalance—the scrappiness. The false arrogance that she uses like a shield. It all fits. Now, Mando can’t picture her as anything else but a starfighter.

He also can’t think of a reply, but she cracks another smile. “Bet you weren’t expecting that.”

He wasn’t, and he wonders whether she can tell by the way he stiffens like a cornered creature. He feels a retort on the edge of his tongue, sharp and barbed—

—but the Pilot’s already spinning away from him, fiddling with the numerous knobs and levers on the dashboard.

She doesn’t turn around again.

At his side, Mando’s fist clenches. He turns and leaves her in the cockpit.

*****

You both fall into a routine faster than you anticipate, working side by side or sitting in the cockpit. Mostly, though, the two of you avoid each other like orbiting planets on opposite ends of a system. The whole “quiet-and-brooding-silent-warrior” thing wasn’t just an act of his, but a reality you’ve come to live with. After two weeks working with the Mandalorian there’s no more small talk—no more questions—and certainly no more banter.

You think your presence irritates him, though it’s impossible to know. Sometimes you sense his frustration even though you can’t think of what you did to possibly earn it. Maybe it was the teasing on that first day… Perhaps the Mandalorian is particularly sensitive about his ship. Even though it’s almost falling apart, the Razor Crest is classic—a ship with real character. You liked it. If you were being honest, you even admired his dedication to the Crest. Something about it felt so timeless, like him.

Maybe the Mandalorian didn’t understand these sentiments of yours. Guilt over your harsh words on the first day stings at the edge of your consciousness, and you wonder if it would be weird to apologize now, to say something to him about it—

Something grabs your leg.

“Oh hey there, Kid.” You stop looking at the panel you’re working on and stoop to pick up the Kid who’s hugging your leg with his little green arms. “What do you want?” You stare down at him and grin when he smiles back. You can’t help it. The Kid has a way of lightening your heart, even with all the tension that simmers between you and Mando. The Kid doesn’t know about it, and if he feels it, he certainly doesn’t care.

“Thought he was still in his seat, but he disappeared.” The Mandalorian’s gruff voice makes you jump. For someone so big and metal, he moves around the ship like a ghost, so stealthy that you can never tell when he’s right behind you. “He wants attention today.”

“Do you now?” The Kid babbles in reply and holds up the little metal ball from his favorite lever to show you. “And Mando wasn’t giving you attention?”

“What did I say about taking that out of the cockpit?” Annoyed, Mando steps closer to grab the ball out of the Kid’s fingers. The instant the ball leaves his hands, the Child’s face falls, his big eyes narrowing.

“Oh, come on.” You pluck the ball back from Mando’s gloved hand before he can stop you. “He’s just a kid.” You smile down at the tiny creature in your arms as you return the ball to him, ignoring how his father’s spine stiffens. He’s so tall;Mando always makes you feel tiny without even trying. Concentrating your energy on the Kid instead, you twist your features into a silly face, earning a giggle.

Mando just stands there. Your heart is racing—pounding in your chest—and you’re terrified, anxious that he has some kind of sensor out of the thousands in his helmet that can see that. Even if not, you’re positive that the goosebumps that erupted on your skin at his proximity are visible, dotting your bare arms and neck. You’re not scared of the Mandalorian anymore but he still makes you nervous, sending your stomach into a flutter. You don’t want to give a name to that. Not yet.

“What are you working on?”

It’s the first question the Mandalorian has asked you in weeks, the first acknowledgement of all the tinkering you’ve done on the ship since you’ve boarded. “Uh—just…” You struggle to gesture at the panel with the Kid in your arms. You’ve pulled out the metal covering and there’s a whole mess of wires showing. Not the best look. “I’m making it better, I swear.”

“I know.” The helmet tilts down.

All he had to say were two words in that low voice—I know—not even straightforward acknowledgement—and you’re floundering. You were always a sucker for praise. For someone who prided yourself on keeping your cool during missions, you’re a flustered mess now. “I… I’ve got some of the drives working at almost maximum capacity, but you’re not going to get it all the way there without replacement parts. This—what I’m doing now—is just so you don’t get a delay when you’re opening—” You trail on, just knowing that Mando’s eyes haven’t left your face. You don’t know how, but you feel his gaze on you, heavy like his armor. To make matters worse, you can feel a blush creeping across your cheeks. Just keep talking. “—I’m just having trouble with—”

All of the sudden, Mando reaches towards you. You flinch.

“Sorry,” he says. “The Kid.”

You look down to see the green baby asleep in your arms, ears twitching and mouth opening with his adorable snores. “Oh.” The bounty hunter takes the Child from you with one arm. You watch as Mando turns and takes the Child to the cot, tenderly resting the baby in his little swing.

You’re staring. You turn back to the panel quickly, the focus of your vision still blurry as you stare down at the wires. What were you doing again? The lights of the Crest dim for the Kid’s nap. Why are your palms so sweaty? You rip the tech jumpsuit you’re wearing off your shoulders, tying it around your waist. You use it as an excuse to reach down and wipe your hands before studying the wires again. It was a difficult task before, but with everything that’s happened (and nothing’s happened, really)—it now feels impossible.

“What are you having trouble with?” Mando’s beside you, stretching upwards to rest a gauntlet on the wall of the ship. He unintentionally cages you in as he stoops to try and get a better look at the wires you’re handling.

“Just…” Not daring to glance back over at him, you hold up the wires. “Just a really delicate set. I don’t have enough hands. If I was an Ardennian this would be easier.” It was supposed to be a joke, but you hear a quick rip of velcro and the slide of leather—

And then… his hands are in your line of vision. Ungloved hands. Real hands. His real hands.

They’re large and scarred, thick fingers with the nails cut short, but they’re human. “How can I help?” His voice is softer because he’s so close to you, and you think you can hear two layers to it: the mechanical modulated baritone, and just maybe—or maybe it’s your imagination—you can hear his very own breaths. His real ones. You try not to shiver. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of his skin, ever, and the tone of it is strikingly warm, only a minute shade darker than your own.

You’re staring again. You’re still refusing to look at his helmet, but you manage to swallow your surprise. “If you could hold these right here. I need to fuse them.“

“Okay.”

“Here.“ You hand him the wires, your fingers brushing his for a second. You take a deep breath. Keep it together. “Ready?”

“Ready.” True to his word, he stays still as a statue as you start fusing the wires, his hands comically large. You squint and roll out your stiff neck, starting to work.

The both of you stay like that. You’ve never been this close, never worked together like this. You take another deep breath, your exhale shaky as you try to level your heart rate.

It's so incredibly dim in the Crest’s hold. Only the electric sparks from your tools cast flickers of light on your face, on his hands, only the intermittent buzzing, a low hum, breaks the silence. When you finally find your focus, everything else but you and the Mandalorian seems to melt away. Not only that—all the anger, all the frustration you and him have felt about invading each other’s space—it all seems to vanish like it was never real in the first place.

You can’t hear his real breaths, you decide. They’re still modulated, but you’re so aware of the rise and fall of his armored chest, the movement only inches away from your bare shoulder. Even with all that beskar shrouding him, you can feel the heat of his body and see the hair on his hands, wonderfully dark and rich. You want to kiss them. It’s a silly thought, and so you bite back the instinct. You’re trying your hardest to not let the tremble in your own hands show, trying so hard not to think of him in the way you were the night before you boarded his ship.

You don’t know when Mando starts looking at you again, but it happens. You sense the minuscule shifts in his gaze; you feel his eyes on your face once more, on your neck, on your bare shoulders. Your blush deepens, and you hope he thinks it’s the heat. You would simply die if he knew he did this to you, made you blush with such a tiny sliver of his skin, of his attention. Two weeks on this ship and you’re so pent up, so desperate for his acknowledgement. You move your legs, feeling the arousal pool between them—

“Done,” you say. You pull away from the panel abruptly and he drops the wires. They’re fused, and you test them; even when you yank lightly with your little finger, they refuse to come apart. “Looks solid.” You grin and give his helmet a quick nod. It’s the first time you’ve mustered the courage to look at him straight since he put the Kid to sleep.

“Good job.” He tests the wires too, and you take the opportunity to ogle his hands again.

“No, thank you.” Your voice is shamelessly breathy. You look down at the floor to avoid the helmet and shake your head. Your hair falls in your eyes. Why are you so dizzy? “Thank you for helping, it made it a lot easier to manage—” Before you finish your sentence, you’re reaching up to brush your hair back.

Mando beats you to it.

His big hand comes up to tuck the hair behind your ear, and you freeze.

Maker, did he just… Did he…

You stare up at him, the both of you suspended in that precious moment for what feels like forever. His rough fingertips, warm flesh and blood, rest on the side of your neck.

You wait.

It’s him who steps back first, retracting his hand as if from a hot flame. You bite your lip as he tightens the same hand into a fist, promptly yanking his gloves free from his belt where he tucked them.

Without a word, Mando turns and walks away from you, striding towards the ladder to the cockpit. Your heart drops as you think he’s just going to just leave you again, leave you in this silence you’ve been living in—

But then he speaks. “I’ll be in the cockpit.” His voice sounds different. Strained. Even under the helmet. Even through the modulator. “Let me know if…” He stops talking then, letting his words die and blend into the hum of the Crest’s engine, into hyperspace. He starts to climb.

“Sure,” you say, but the Mandalorian is already gone.

*****

The Girl and the Kid are sound asleep by the time Mando locks himself in the fresher that night. She’s taken to sleeping in the cockpit most nights, her small figure curled up with a blanket in the chair of her choice.

She’s been driving the Mandalorian mad for the past few weeks. It’s not one thing or the other, but everything combined: the way she flies, calm and confident, eyes brimming with excitement as she moves the Crest through the stars; the care in the work she does fixing the ship, chewing her lip raw as she concentrates on the delicate wiring; the way she cares for the Kid, her expression softening as she cradles the baby. Mando didn’t expect any of it. The sum of it is maddening. Mando’s certain he’s never been jealous of an inanimate object (especially one in the state of the Razor Crest) or his own son before, but he is now. The Mandalorian craves the Girl, her looks and smiles, her attention—her laugh when the Kid does something cute.

The Girl’s hair is actually a dark brown, not black like Mando initially thought. He knows this because he’s spent hours staring at the back of her head, memorizing the curve of her shoulder and the graceful bend of her neck while she flies. She’s none the wiser. It’s one of the few times Mando’s been completely thankful for the helmet, if only so she doesn’t know how much time he spends just… staring. Mando’s a man, yes, but he’s ashamed of how many times he’s pictured her naked in the past day—or in the past hour. It’s getting ridiculous how easily he slides into that headspace, letting the lust take ahold of him. He’ll come down the hatch and see her on all fours tightening a screw and—yeah, he’s pictured it again. And again. It drives him mad that he doesn’t know.He doesn't know any of the finer details, and it's killing him.

He doesn’t know much about her at all.

He doesn’t even know her name. He didn’t bother to ask, and like so many others on the Outer Rim, she didn’t offer it. Names have never been important to Mando, at least in casual business exchanges. Because he never offers his own, because he keeps it to himself, he’s gotten used to assigning random pronouns to people like they’re objects passing through his fingers. The Kid. The Pilot—no—The Girl.

The singular mystery that’s been driving Mando wild with desire isn’t visual. She’s a good-looking girl, no one was denying that, but… Mando can’t get enough of how she smells. Before, in the absence of her presence, when he took off his helmet he was greeted by the stale chemical tang of recycled air, same as on most ships. Now the scent of her lingers everywhere. It greets him in the darkness when he wakes in his cot, and it’s the first thing that hits him when he takes off the helmet after a long day. It’s like sitting in a field of flowers, or smoking so much spice that his head spins with it. It’s delicious but diluted—just a trace of her—not even close to the potent fragrance it could be if he pressed his nose right into her bare skin. The possibility of it makes Mando’s mouth water. He’s never without her, not truly, never able to stop thinking, wondering, imagining—even when they’re in separate spaces, when they’re working in different rooms. She stays with him. What would she look like bent over for him? What would she smell like? How would she taste?

The Girl had never done anything to hint that she wanted him too—not until today. He made note of the spark of desire in her eyes after he brushed her hair back. So when Mando locks himself away in the fresher and takes off his helmet tonight, he knows what he’s about to do again. Especially after their interaction, if Mando doesn’t take care of himself, he’ll be distracted tomorrow. Or more distracted than he already is. She’s driving him—a Mandalorian, a warriorbound to an ancient, religious, creed—to distraction. And that won’t do.

He looks downwards, studying his own hands. She did seem to like those. His knuckles have lost their color from how tightly he’s gripping the sink. Usually (which is more often now she’s here), Mando would make quick work of his sexual needs. He would barely strip off the armor, rarely taking a second longer than required. Since she’s filled his head with these thoughts, however, he’s hungry for all the time in the world—time he doesn’t have. Already free from his armor, he tears off his shirt, leaning against the metal wall, keeping as quiet as he can. It’s a small fresher and sounds in this ship echo.

The Mandalorian gives his cock a good squeeze through the fabric of his pants, holding back a moan and waiting. The Girl would tease him. She would make him wait. It’s all the both of them do now, he thinks. All their fleeting looks through long lashes and beskar, all the missed opportunities disappearing into the vacuous silence of space. There’s so much he wants to do with her—he’s never been shy about how adventurous his sexual tastes run—but for now just the thought of having her, of just having her warm, wanting—waiting for him—is enough to drive him to unbuckle his belt.

“Fuck,” he hisses, running the rough pads of his fingers down his length. Mando wraps a loose fist around his cock, smearing the shiny bead of his precum around the throbbing head with a thumb. His wrist moves lazily, slowly, and he pictures the Girl’s hand in the place of his—smaller and softer. She’s sunken under his skin, and now the thoughts he lives with all day only burnish brighter within his imagination. He exhales softly through his nose, shutting his eyes, welcoming the blank canvas of his closed eyelids.

He’s imagining the Girl looking up at him from her knees, her pretty eyes latched onto his as he fucks her mouth. He’s thinking about how her face would look as she struggled to take him everywhere—if she could handle the size of him. It’s all depraved: his thoughts; the slow, steady, motion of his hand; the way he's locked in the fresher thinking of her while she’s asleep in the cockpit, oblivious to how he feels. Mando pictures the goosebumps on the Girl’s perfectly smooth skin today, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he flatters himself, his chest swelling as he remembers that he did that to her. He lurches further into his own hand at the thought, whispering again. “Oh, fuck…”

Mando’s free hand leaves the sink, combing through the loose locks of his brown hair before tugging. The sharp pain of it grounds him, bringing him back from the edge. He loves how soft her hair is, and he wants to use it to play with her, to defile her, to pull her backwards as he sinks into her heat. Leaving his hair, the hand slides down to grasp the back of his muscled neck, trailing down his chest, his fingers trickling down the hard ridges of his stomach. What would the Girl do if he touched her? The hand on his cock stills, squeezing the base of it, his grip tightening as he resumes his strokes—slower… then faster, then slower again. He’s already so close. Stilling, he cups his balls as remembers the softness of her skin from today, the pulse in her neck beating a memory into his fingertips. And though he promised himself he would be quiet, Mando’s mouth drops open, his own sharp, quick, desperate, pants echoing out in the fresher, his head titling back to crash against the wall—

The Kid bawls in the next second, loud and clear.

Mando stops, hitting a fist on the side of the sink in frustration before tucking himself back into his trousers. Fuck. There’s a tremble in the walls of the ship as he hears the Girl awaken and dart down the ladder. So fast.

As he hurriedly dons his shirt and helmet, Mando hears her muffled voice as she calms his son. “Mando?”

“I’m here.” He opens the fresher door, almost bumping into her as she waits outside.

“Is—Is he ok?” The Child is quiet now, twitching in her arms, eyes closed. Back asleep. The Girl stares up at him, completely ignorant to why Mando’s been in the fresher so long.

“Yes.” He steps closer to look at the Kid, relishing how she inhales as he shifts closer. “The Kid has bad dreams sometimes.”

She nods. “Ok. I was just worried.” She holds the Kid tighter against her chest, a blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. “I’ll put him back.” Mando watches as she deposits the child back in the swing. It’s the most vulnerable Mando’s seen her; her hair is messy with sleep, strewn across her face with disarming innocence.

“You should sleep in the cot,” he tells her. “It’s more comfortable.”

“I’m okay, really.”

“Take it. I'm not tired yet.”

“No, it’s fine.”

He doesn’t understand. “You can’t sleep in a chair every night.”

“It’s ok.” She smiles, and her voice is still drowsy when she pipes up again. “If I sleep in the cot, you can’t. And if we take turns, then...” I can't see you. She doesn't finish the thought, but he knows.

His throat swells at her words, and he’s struck dumb. It’s like he can’t move, like he can’t even refuse the cot after that. The Girl smiles again and moves past him, towards the ladder.

“Girl.” She stops. “Goodnight.” He says it softly, almost like he’s afraid of her hearing. But she does hear, and she turns to him.

Mando allows himself to reach up, to brush the hair away from her face for the second time. On this instance he does it slowly, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against his bare hand. And ever so slowly, she turns her face into his palm, pressing her lips to his calloused skin.

His only response is to stroke a thumb across her lips, his breath hitching.

“Goodnight, Mando,” she whispers.

*****

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has commented & sent messages of support! It is good to see so many familiar "faces" still around.

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